A Fairytale By Another Name
by Brookebynature
Summary: It's a cold night in December when it happens: when they somehow end up with a cop as a hostage in their South Side basement and no real plan. It's when Erin finds herself more drawn to him than she should be, that the real problems begin. Linstead.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N - Hi guys, so this is my new story and I'm actually really excited about it as it's not like anything I've written before. I've noticed a couple other kidnap fics on here but this has been in the pipeline for a while and I deliberately haven't read the other stories so as not to unintentionally (or intentionally) steal ideas.**

 **The rating for this is a STRONG T and themes will include violence, kidnap and PTSD.**

 **My final chapter for Dangerous Love will be up some time this week but I was too excited about this story to wait to post.**

 **I hope you enjoy, and please let me know your thoughts with a review**

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A Fairytale By Another Name

It's a cold night in December when it happens. She's waiting in Charlie's car, blowing into her hands to keep them warm because even though he's left the engine running, the heater's broken. Maybe if this goes well, they'll have enough money to buy a new car - or at least get this one fixed. That being said, Erin knows the more likely scenario: more money means more drugs and Charlie's not bothered enough about material things to worry about anything more than rent, the gas and electricity bills and keeping the liquor cabinet stocked.

There's a covering of snow on the ground - not enough for traffic and planes to grind to a halt, but enough to warrant the boots she's wearing and the thick winter coat just about keeping the chill off. She huffs out a breath and it fogs up the passenger side window so much that the view of the apartment building they're parked outside becomes cloudy and tinged with grey. Or, at least more grey than it already is. Chicago in the winter isn't much more than a palette of whites and charcoals.

The snow continues to fall, light flakes turning to heavier ones and Erin jabs at the radio because she hates the silence of these nights: the ones in which he leaves her in the car to keep watch for the cops while he demands money from clients who haven't cleared their tab. Last thing they need is someone questioning whether she's alright in there.

She's tired tonight - limbs heavy from continuous interrupted sleep and the effects of a couple whiskey shots before they drove across to McKinley Park (a little dutch courage, she knows, but won't admit) and it's taking a monumental amount of effort to keep her eyelids from closing like they desperately want to.

More minutes pass though, and there's a growing uneasiness about the amount of time she's been waiting for Charlie to return. She has the apartment number memorised but she's safer out here, she knows, and besides, he hates it if she comes to look for him. It happened a good few times in the beginning, where she'd panicked and gone to check he was okay, only to find trashed homes and a client nursing a bloody nose or some broken ribs. And Charlie had been furious; told her she'd risked some overly-nosy neighbour reporting a strange car parked outside or risked creating a scene by walking in on something she didn't need to see. What he means by that, she's gathered over the years they've been doing this together, is a body. Charlie's killed and Erin knows it and yet staying with him is better than any alternative she can think of. Staying on his good side, too, is safer still.

All of a sudden, the front door of the building she's watching flies open to reveal a man in only a t-shirt and jeans, his cheek bloody and swollen - the recipient, she imagines, of the barrel of Charlie's gun - being forced towards the car by Charlie himself, and already she knows this isn't going to end well.

She shifts over to the driver seat because if this is the hostage situation she immediately fears it is, there's no way they can put this guy in the back of the car without cuffs or a rope or cable ties - none of which they have - and it's not like she can hold him, is it?

Once she's got there and her shaky fingers are clutching the steering wheel, the back door opens and she hears Charlie shoving this guy onto the seat, watches in the rearview mirror as he falls against the other door - but lazily, like all energy has been sucked out of him. Charlie slams the door closed behind him and barks at Erin to drive, the harshness in his voice betraying how panicked he is. It wouldn't be obvious to many people, Erin thinks, but she knows him - has done ever since she was fourteen and needed somewhere to stay while her mom embarked upon a fortnight-long drug binge that resulted in the landlord kicking them out - and everything in his tone suggests this isn't what he'd planned. His anxiousness quickly transfers to her veins and her whole body is humming in fear.

"Drive!" he shouts again, and she floors the gas pedal, resulting in a high-pitched squeal from the tyres as they protest against the lack of friction against the snow until finally, they give in and let the car travel away from the curb.

"Where to?" she asks, gripping the wheel even tighter as the guy in the back groans and Charlie hisses at him to shut the fuck up.

"The basement."

" _Our_ basement?" she asks incredulously because yeah, she hadn't expected Charlie to have much of a plan but she'd thought there would be something better than this; better than hiding a damn hostage under their kitchen floor.

"How many other fucking basements do you know?" he spits, any last remnants of calm evaporating.

Erin swallows and puts her foot down further, just making it through the next light before amber turns to red. She wants to ask Charlie whether he's thought about this guy remembering their route; being able to memorise the houses in their shitty neighbourhood so he can lead the cops back there once he escapes; storing every detail of their faces in his mind so that he can pick them out of a line-up and put them away for decades. Of course, she knows he hasn't, because that's the thing with Charlie: he's impulsive and reckless and as much as once upon a time, that was exciting, now it's more of a worry when she's relying on him to put food on the table and formula in Jack's bottle.

She crosses West 59th and makes the left turn a little too quickly, the car skidding on a patch of ice she hadn't spied until it was too late. The roads here haven't been gritted (nobody gives much of a shit about that on the South Side) and so she takes her foot off the gas just a little because as much as they need to get this guy inside, she needs to do it without drawing further attention.

Without warning, she hears a crack and a strangled scream escapes her mouth as she sees this guy's head slump forwards.

"Shut up!" Charlie urges, pulling his gun away from the face of the guy beside him. "Last thing we need is for him to see where he's going."

Erin knows it should be a comfort that he's going to be out cold when they pull up at the house but she also knows he's going to be a dead weight and Charlie's big, granted, but he's not going to be able to drag him up onto the porch and into the house without her help.

She makes the right onto their street and slows the car gently so it doesn't slide into the wall of the house. Last thing she needs is to wake Jack.

"Unlock the door," Charlie instructs. Prop the door to the basement open."

"I need to check on Jack first," she tells him, but his face sours and she knows that was the wrong thing to say.

"He'll be fine for another five fucking minutes."

She tries not to wince at his words, tries (and fails) not to feel her stomach drop when he talks about their child like he isn't the most precious thing in their life, because - deep down - as much as Erin wants him to, she knows Charlie doesn't feel for Jack what she does. Knows that as much as he loves his son, he isn't _in love_ with what they've created together.

She nods and exits the car but they both know she'll stop by his crib, smooth the dark curls of his hair to settle him even if he doesn't stir. And she does. She unlocks the front door and makes her way upstairs quickly, inching the door to Jack's room open so the fraction of light from the hallway enables her to see he's safe and still sleeping soundly like Charlie said he'd be.

After propping open the basement door and then remembering to turn the light on so that they don't trip down the stairs, she heads back out to the car where Charlie's standing by the back door with a fistful of the guy's t-shirt.

"Stand at the other side of me," he tells her. "Take his other arm once I've got him out."

By the time they've got him up the porch steps, the neat scar across the bottom of her stomach is protesting at the strain but she knows they have to get him inside before she can even consider a rest. When they do, Charlie looks at her, must sense her discomfort and tells her to find something to tie him to the radiator with.

She's rummaging through the cupboard for some sort of wire she thinks she saw the other week, when she hears a series of almighty thuds. She closes her eyes as the bile rises in her throat because as much as she doesn't want to acknowledge as such, she knows the noise was the guy being thrown down the stairs to the basement. Next, she waits for Jack's cries, tells herself she has to go to Charlie with the wire before she can comfort their son, and so once she's found it, she all but runs down the stairs herself.

"No rope?" he asks when she hands him the wire.

"That's all I could find."

"It'll do for tonight."

"I can go to the store in the morning," she offers, then wishes she hadn't as Jack's cries grow louder.

Charlie seems to acknowledge that she needs to quieten the baby and nods at her to go back upstairs, dragging the guy's body over to the radiator on the far wall.

Erin's shushing Jack when she hears the light to the basement click off and the door close. Her hold on him tightens, a subconscious attempt to comfort herself just as much as she's comforting him she supposes, although it doesn't work - not that she'd expected it to.

"C'mon little man," she whispers, "You're okay; you're safe."

She feels like a fraud at those words because she knows none of them are safe now - not really - because however this situation ends, it's not going to be good for anyone. There's a rattle from the kitchen: the refrigerator door opening and closing again, and she breathes kisses into Jack's hair, takes from it that delicious sweet scent of milk and baby powder before laying him back down in his crib. She keeps a hand on his back, rubbing gently up and down until he drifts back off again, and then stays for a few more minutes to get her breath; prepare herself as best she can for whatever plan Charlie's formulating downstairs.

He's leaning against the counter when she enters the kitchen, tipping the bottle of Busch against his lips and draining the contents. Erin doesn't say anything, just stands against the frame between that room and the livingroom, her hands pressed into the wood.

"He's a cop Erin," he announces in a tone that lets her know just how fucked they are in all of this.

Her skin flames and pricks with beads of sweat. "You sure?" It seems such a stupid question to ask and yet here she is, letting the words spill from her lips regardless. He tosses something towards her and she misses it, the thing landing at her feet and distinguishing itself as a wallet. She bends to pick it up, unfolding the leather and taking in the distinctive smell of cinnamon and mint. There's a driver's licence and she looks at it carefully, tracing the words with her fingertips.

"Jay Halstead," she says softly, looking at the image beside the information. "His address doesn't match."

"It was his brother's place."

"So why'd you bring him here?"

"He said he was a cop, showed me his badge and I thought it was either get busted for dealing, possession of a gun, and breaking and entering or kill him."

"Then why didn't you just kill him? Why bring him here?"

"Because killing him doesn't get me paid. When I get the money, _then_ I'll do it."

She can't help but feel like this would be a small loss, this couple hundred dollars; like it'd be a small price to pay for not keeping someone tied up in the basement while your child sleeps upstairs.

"How are you going to get the money?" she asks, needing his answers because she sure as hell can't see how this is going to work out.

"Demand it off his brother."

"His brother?"

Charlie sighs like he's sick of having to explain things. "It was his brother's place. His brother who owes the money. He wasn't there but this guy was."

"Jay," she says almost defiantly.

"What?"

"His name is Jay."

He looks confused for a moment, like he's not sure why their conversation's taken a slight turn, but he chooses to ignore it and Erin decides not to bring it up again. Charlie's going to do what Charlie's going to do and she's along for the ride whether she likes it or not.

"You want a beer?" he asks, crossing to the refrigerator for his second bottle but she shakes her head. She's foggy and tired enough from the whiskey earlier, and the last thing they need is to both be out cold when Jay wakes and starts making all kinds of noise to alert the neighbours.

She shakes her head and he shrugs. "Suit yourself."

Instead, she flicks on the coffee machine so she doesn't have to work quite so hard to fight sleep. Her limbs protest at the movement but eventually the water begins to drip through the filter and the smell begins to stir her senses enough that not every blink is quite so difficult.

Later, when Charlie's sinking something like his sixth or seventh beer and she's on coffee mug number three, there's an almighty bang from down in the basement. She looks towards him but already knows it's going to be her that goes down there: his eyes are glazed and she knows he's going to be unsteady on his feet, and so she rises from the couch, suppressing the sigh that's threatening to escape.

Erin clicks the light on first; waits the seemingly endless period of time where the light jumps on and off again repeatedly until it finally stays on and she can head down the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N - Thank you so much for your lovely reviews to the first chapter of this fic. I hope you enjoy the second chapter. Don't forget to review :) x**

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A Fairytale By Another Name

"Hey," she hisses at him, "Shut up!"

The guy doesn't seem to get her memo though, and continues thrashing around, testing the strength of the wire which doesn't look like it'll hold too well if he keeps it up. She repeats her words, voice a little louder and a little more aggressive, but he still doesn't stop his movements. He sounds pained: breathing ragged and laboured and it's only when Erin inches just a little closer that she realises he's not fully-present. In body he is of course, but his mind has to be somewhere else, she figures. That being said, he's currently being held in a basement so she supposes maybe his mind has retreated somewhere else. Somewhere else though that's possibly worse than this.

"Halstead!" she says, even louder still as she kicks the bottom of his left boot with her own. It appears to do the trick and his head snaps up in her direction revealing bloodshot eyes and agony etched into his forehead. Erin swallows, feeling her stomach lurch as she watches him take in his surroundings and realise where he is.

"Quit making so much noise."

He just stares at her and he looks so much like a small child in that moment that she considers untying him, telling him to run and not look back. But she can't do that of course - can't even _attempt_ to clean up this mess that Charlie's created for them because it's _always_ going to come back on them. Jail she could take, she figures. Charlie going to jail, she could cope with - it's not like it would be the first time - but leaving Jack? That would break her, and so she silently chides herself for even thinking about the man in front of her as a person. It's not going to help anyone.

"What does he think he's going to get from keeping me down here?" Jay finally says, his voice rough and scratchy.

Erin clamps her mouth closed, refusing without words to be drawn into conversation with him.

"He going to kill me?"

Again, she remains stoic, absently running her fingers along her arms. It's damn near freezing down in that basement and she doesn't miss the fact he's only wearing jeans and a t-shirt. He's got to be even colder than she is. Still, she figures it won't matter much anyway after a few days or whenever it is that Charlie decides to end this.

"Stay quiet," is all she says before turning to leave. She's almost at the top of the stairs when he calls out to her.

"If he's going to kill me anyway, what's it matter?"

She clicks off the light and shuts the door without an answer.

By the time she returns to the livingroom, Charlie's near to passed out and she seriously considers running. Packing a bag upstairs quickly, grabbing Jack and the car and driving until the gas runs out. But the practicalities of it all keep her firmly in that house: there's nowhere to run to - not without money at least - and Charlie's never given her any more than what she needs for diapers and formula and other essentials along those lines.

She wants to go to bed. Wants desperately to stretch out beneath the sheets, drift off and then wake to realise this was simply a vivid nightmare, and yet she knows it isn't possible. They can't both possibly sleep at the same time - not without a lock on that basement door at least - and it's obvious that Charlie's not going to be the one on watch tonight.

Looking at the man now passed out on the couch, Erin makes her way to the kitchen, and more specifically, to the drawer next to the refrigerator. She takes out the 9mm Glock and turns it over in her hands, dusting her forefinger over the trigger. It's heavier than she remembers - it's not often she's had it in her hands but ever since the day she had the barrel of a gun pressed up against her own cheek, she's made target practice a priority. When Jack came along, it was the one thing she made Charlie get for her.

She carries it upstairs with her towards the room where he's sleeping, puts it down on the changing table while she lifts him from the crib - careful not to jostle and wake him. He barely stirs, just nuzzles his head against her chest somewhat subconsciously, and she feels such a rush of love for him in that moment that it's almost overwhelming. Nobody had told her much about what to expect about having a kid. Mountains of dirty diapers, sure; an endless drain on money you don't have; a constant interruption of sleep, but never this. Nobody ever said she'd feel so incredibly protective and afraid - always afraid that someone or something might come and steal him from her. Jack came too, with the question of why Bunny clearly hadn't felt the same towards Erin; why it had been so easy for her to walk away without a second glance.

She breathes a kiss into his dark curls and grabs the blanket from his crib, draping it over him before picking the gun back up and heading back downstairs. She settles on the couch next to Charlie, Jack snuggled in against her chest in his navy sleepsuit, his tiny eyelids flickering with the indication of a dream. Erin hopes it's good; hopes that his world - especially in sleep - will always remain safe and happy.

The gun stays by her side in case Jay manages to break free of the wire binding his wrists to the radiator. She hopes more than anything it won't come to it, but she knows if she needs to keep her son safe, she won't hesitate in cocking that gun and pulling the trigger.

X

Dawn breaks weakly, the sun barely stuttering out enough light for the streetlamps to turn off, and before long it's snowing again. Erin feeds Jack, changes him and dresses him warmly enough that they can go to the store for cable ties and rope without him catching a cold, all with the gun by her side.

He smiles when she bounces him, squeals and giggles at the raspberry she blows against his stomach while he's lying on the changing table, and protests with only minimal fuss when she tries to force his arms inside of the snowsuit.

By the time she comes downstairs, Charlie's waking groggily and so Erin flicks on the coffee machine, Jack balanced on her hip so she can wrap the scarf around his neck to hold the hood of his snowsuit over his head.

"I'll head to the hardware store," she says flatly. "Get some rope and cable ties."

Charlie runs a hand over his face and nods.

"I'm going to need some money."

"There's money in his wallet. Take it from there," he tells her, groaning as he rises from the couch. She does as Charlie instructs, slipping the two twenties into her pocket and then adding a couple tens too - just in case. Maybe she should take it all but there's something stopping her: a warped sense of right and wrong, maybe, whispers of a conscience fighting its way to the surface.

She almost leaves without asking the question, but the words manage to fight their way out of her mouth.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'll figure it out."

And yet, she's almost certain he won't - that blind faith she had in him back when she was a teenager and looking for any kind of guidance he was willing to give, having slipped away over the years since, eroded by increasing evidence that he's calculating, yes, but not calculating _enough_. Not clever _enough_.

"Okay," she tells him, because it's easier than _we're screwed_.

She buys the rope and the cable ties with Jack's innocent eyes watching her movements, watching as she becomes even more complicit in this kidnap-cum-hostage situation. She wonders whether this will become something that will screw him up later in life: one of those childhood experiences you don't necessarily remember but that is stored in your subconscious so you end up conditioned to act in a certain way. And if it doesn't, Erin decides, she's certain she'll screw him up eventually anyway, because who is she kidding? Love alone will never be enough to ensure he'll have a good life.

The snow doesn't let up for the return journey, nor does it cease when she reaches the house and closes the door to the freezing air. She hands Charlie the supplies first and then proceeds to unbundle Jack from his snowsuit, setting him in the little pen in the corner of the room so she can take off her own coat.

"You'll have to buy the lock," she says. "It would've looked suspicious if I got it with the other stuff."

"Uh yeah," Charlie agrees, like he hadn't even thought of it, and that's what worries Erin more than anything: the lack of planning. "I'll head out later."

She nods and stifles a yawn. It's approaching thirty hours that she's been awake now and she knows there'll be at least another couple before she can get some sleep.

"I'll go re-tie him. Bring the gun."

She does as he says and they head down into the basement together. Jay's watching them as they descend, his eyes showing that he, too, has had minimal - if any - sleep in the past day. There are bruises rising on his skin - purples and greens and yellows littering his arms to display the results of being half-thrown down the stairs last night.

"Stay still," Charlie instructs him. "She'll fire if you try to make a run for it."

Jay focuses his attention on Erin and she feels her skin burn under his stare. His eyes fix on her finger - the one that's resting on the trigger - and she wills it not not shake; not to betray the hammering of her heart. She might've shot before, but never in circumstances like this.

She stares at him and is almost certain she sees his lips twitch - not a smile (barely a hint of one really) - but it's enough of a movement to register in her sleep-deprived brain. His eyes return back to hers and she swears there's something in them that isn't the hate there should be: a plead, maybe, or hope that she'll be the one to rectify all of this. And so Erin takes a step closer to him; angles the gun just that little to the left so it's pointing right between his eyes now.

She isn't weak, and she won't allow him to think she is.

Jay doesn't move when Charlie secures the first cable tie around his wrist, nor does he when the second one is secured. Next, Charlie binds his feet with the rope and Erin mentally notes the way his breathing increases and grows shallower. It's a small victory, she supposes - noticing this. The rope a trigger she can use if need be, and yet for some reason she tells herself it's information for her, not Charlie.

He makes to head back upstairs and she notes the fact he hasn't removed the original wire binding Jay's hands to the radiator.

"You going to bring the wire?" she asks, instantly regretting her words. His face darkens but he seems to consider it for a moment. She's only thinking of what-ifs. What if he somehow breaks free of the rope and the cable ties? What if he uses the wire as something to strangle them with?

But then she realises it's signalled to Jay that if there is a plan here, it hasn't been fully-communicated. It's her first error: one she'll pay for, she knows, on several accounts.

And then she hears a noise. It's only faint, but her ears are attuned to the sound: Jack's cries. She tries not to draw any attention to it; creates more noise than she usually would as Charlie decides against untying the wire and they head back up the stairs, but this guy's a cop. He'll almost certainly be trained in picking up the tiny details - honing in on them so that what might be considered a snippet of information to some, becomes the nail in the coffin for them.

"Get some sleep," Charlie tells her once they're back in the livingroom and she's comforting a teary baby. "I'll watch him."

Suddenly, she's overcome with a desperate need to stay awake. To spend every last minute with her son. "It's okay."

"Erin, we can't both be asleep at the same time. If you're tired, you'll slip up."

She rages silently at that. At the suggestion that _she'll_ be the one to bring about the inevitable awful end to all of this. And yet, she knows he's right, and she can't risk Jack being hurt, so she hands him to his dad before dropping a kiss to his crown.

Her bed, unsurprisingly, isn't the comforting haven she needs. It's cold without Charlie there to warm her up, and the room's too bright - even in the pathetic excuse for daylight. Every time her eyes close it's a different image, but each equally as haunting as the last: Charlie whacking Jay with the barrel of his gun; him tumbling down the stairs into the basement; the bruises on his arms and face; Jack's innocent stare as she bought the supplies at the hardware store; the raw redness of Jay's eyes; her own shaking finger poised over the trigger.

If anything, her bed and the fitful almost-sleep it's bringing, is hell.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N - I love you guys for your kind words in the reviews you left for the last chapter. Hope you enjoy this one. x**

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A Fairytale By Another Name

She looks like shit and she knows it. The bathroom mirror all but shouts out those words too: a not-so-gentle reflection of the horrible person she is staring back at her with red-rimmed eyes and cold, grey skin. She looks old, she thinks. Old for twenty-three at least, with a messy ponytail and chewed nails and a constant expression of resignation, like she signed up for this and had known all along it would end badly. The only time that expression of hers lightens, she knows, is when she sees Jack. She reserves the last remnants of energy she has solely for him.

Charlie decides on a plan of action while she's settling Jack to sleep. He tells her he'll drive back to the apartment belonging to Jay's brother and watch for him; figure out his route so he can catch him off guard without any witnesses; alert him to his brother's fate if he doesn't pay what he owes - plus the interest.

"Interest?" Erin asks dumbly, stroking Jack's hair away from his face. She wishes she could sleep as peacefully as he does - always untroubled and soothed simply by the palm of her hand.

"Cop's gotta be worth more than a couple hundred," Charlie answers from the doorway. "And it's his brother down there."

"How much?" she asks, knowing the answer is going to be high. Too high.

"Five."

"Hundred?"

"Grand."

"Five thousand dollars?" she asks in something close to disbelief, except it's a whispered shriek because she can't have Jay hear Jack cry. Can't have him know there's a child in all of this somewhere if he hasn't figured that out yet.

"Car heater's broke. You wanna keep this place warm all day. He needs diapers and formula and crap," Charlie replies, nodding his head towards their sleeping child. "And we can't have word getting around that customers aren't paying."

And there it is: the real reason for all of this, she supposes. And yet, Erin knows he's right in maintaining his stance on being paid: dealing is a chain and as soon as one of the links breaks, it works its way to the top. The last thing they need is someone beating down their door - or worse - so they can get paid too.

He makes to leave after Erin closes the door behind her, gun already back in hand despite the new lock on the basement door, and tells her he'll be back in an hour or two.

"Just watching, right?" she checks, watching his eyes to see if the resulting "right," is a lie or not.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

His kiss makes her feel uneasy, yet Erin offers her lips again anyway. He tastes like whiskey and cigarettes. He tastes like _him_.

"Be careful Charlie," she says. He doesn't give a reply; just simply heads out of the door to his car.

She busies herself with tidying; washing up the few plates and mugs from earlier; straightening the few photographs above the fireplace until she's almost certain that the last of her energy has been consumed. She sinks onto the couch, closes her eyes and sucks in a breath she's not entirely sure she wants to let back out again, but of course, she does. For Jack. Only for that little boy upstairs with Charlie's dark hair and Charlie's dark eyes and Charlie's everything. His personality though, Erin hopes, will be the one thing he gets from her.

She's picturing their son's future as a doctor or maybe a lawyer or teacher or something else good, something so much better than the culmination of his parents, and that's when she hears it: a clanging accompanied with a shout. Her stomach lurches, heart sinking so far so fast that she nearly hurls all over the livingroom floor. Maybe, she figures, it's a one-off. A test of their word that if he made a noise, they'd shoot.

But it comes again, louder this time and so she grabs her gun, resting by her side as it always is now. She won't have him wake Jack and risk his cries, so she rises with tired, aching limbs that are screaming for any kind of respite she can grant them.

The key for the lock on the basement door lives in the kitchen drawer where her gun always used to be. Erin takes it in her shaking left hand, willing her fingers to still so as not to give anything away. The light performs its usual on-off flickering until it finally stays on to light the room below the house.

Her descent of the stairs is like something from a movie, she concludes, as she finally reaches the bottom and takes in Jay's hunched body. She's not sure how he's managed to get himself into that position what with the rope binding his hands and feet, but he has and now it's up to her to do something about this noise.

"Hey, Halstead," she hisses, keeping her distance as she aims her gun at his face. "Quit with the noise."

Jay turns to her then, his face screwed and eyes so, so red that he looks something like the protagonist in a horror film. The words he speaks though are so much softer than the noise he's been making that Erin wonders how on earth they could come from the same person.

"I need the bathroom."

Well shit, she hadn't thought of this.

She shrugs, unsure of what else to do. There's no toilet down here and she's not about to untie him so he can use the upstairs bathroom.

"There's a bucket over there," he continues, indicating the far side of the room with his head. "I can use that if you bring it over."

She looks at him then, narrowing her eyes because why on earth is this guy speaking to her like she's anything more than a monster? He stares right back, his face marred with bruises and so she looks away; can't bring herself to look any longer at what Charlie's done. What they've _both_ done, she supposes.

She doesn't recall the moment she decides to get the bucket. It's not a conscious decision evidently, and she only realises she's made it when she's setting down the black tub Charlie uses to wash the car in the summer beside Jay.

"You're going to have to untie my hands."

Erin scoffs. "You really think I'm gonna do that?"

"I'll miss."

"Chance I'll take," she replies, not even sure why she's engaging in this conversation.

"You can keep the gun pointed at me," he says, "Keep my feet tied. But I need my hands free. Can't undo my zipper without them."

She considers his words for a moment, conjures up the scenarios in her head: her unzipping his jeans; him peeing all over the floor and himself.

"He's upstairs," she lies. "Try and escape and he'll kill you and your brother."

He stares at her then: _really_ stares like he's taking in every last detail of her face. She can't bare it - the intensity of his gaze - and so she moves the gun, points it at his chest and then back up to the space between his eyes in order to shift his focus. He seems to realise her decision though, and turns his wrist slightly so they're pointing up. Erin wonders if whether the cable ties might be too loose if he can do this, and so she vows to make the next set tighter.

The knot Charlie's tied in the rope is haphazard - no real finesse to the way he's looped the ends and so it proves easier to loosen than Erin might have suspected. Her gun is by her feet, far enough away that Jay can't reach it, with the barrel pointed at him.

"Okay," she says, picking it up again before undoing the knot fully. "You've got a minute."

"What about the cable tie?"

"You'll manage," she replies flatly.

Jay makes to turn and her heart rating ramps up another fifty paces a minute it seems.

"Hey!" Her voice is teetering on the edge of panicked and she silently curses herself for betraying her exterior. "Face me."

"You can't even give me this last shred of dignity?" he asks, the emotion in his eyes halfway between anger and desperation. For some reason, she thinks of Jack. Thinks, God-forbid, what if it were him in someone's basement, tied to a radiator in the freezing cold and being made to pee in a bucket?

Something inside of her chest tugs. She simultaneously knows and doesn't want to acknowledge what it is. It was never there before she became a mother, but Jack's made her softer in these past few months than she's ever been before. She knows it's a weakness in this situation; knows too, that it'll get her into trouble.

But Jay's not Jack and she shakes her head. "Forty seconds."

He complies and Erin holds in the sigh of relief threatening to tumble out of her mouth as he loosens his jeans, letting them tumble down to his ankles in surrender to this showcase of the loss of dignity she's subjecting him to.

She shivers as she's watching, her flesh goosebumping under her sweater, but she still stands straight, aiming the gun at the man in front of her. It occurs to her that Jay must be absolutely freezing down here. The radiator he's tied to hasn't worked for as long as she can remember, and the heat from the house won't do any good when hot air only rises.

He finishes and she moves forward, indicating his previous sitting place with the glock. He complies without question and once he's settled back down beside the radiator, Erin sets the gun on the concrete - barrel always pointing towards him - and takes the rope in her hands.

She knows he's watching her face the entire time; knows even without looking that his eyes are reading her and so she does her very best to remain impassive, like binding someone twice her size to a radiator is something she does routinely. Once she slips the rope over his wrists however, taking care to note exactly how much room the cable tie allocates between them, she hears Jay suck in a breath; senses his focus is no longer on her, but on something else. She continues to twist the rope around into the figure of nine knot she learned how to do at school once when some cub scout leader came in to recruit more kids under the guise of teaching her fifth grade class 'survival skills'. The only real survival skills she's learned came as a result of Bunny being her mother and the South Side of Chicago being her home for the last twenty-three years. Funny enough, skimming bark off branches so she can toast marshmallows around a fire hasn't ever been a situation she's encountered in daily life.

When she tugs on the rope to ensure its stability, Jay lets out a noise - not so much a grunt or a wince, but some similar hybrid that makes Erin appraise him. His eyes are closed now, head turned away from her and that's when she sees the sweat beading on his forehead.

It must be close to freezing down here - no more than forty degrees she suspects - and so whatever he's feeling as a result of the rope must be pretty horrific, Erin figures. Thing is, it's not like she can ask him if he's okay: the answer to that is always going to be something stronger than 'no' and so she opts for something else, figuring it'll shift his attention.

"You hungry?"

She doesn't know why she asks; what good she's going to gain from his answer, and yet he _does_ turn his head at her words; opens an eye, then the other; checks (she surmises) that he's still here in this God-awful basement.

"No."

And yet he hasn't eaten for over two days and hasn't drunk either - as far as she knows.

"A drink then?"

"So you can watch me piss into a bucket again?" he asks, words clipped and cutting, and yet Erin knows she has no right to feel any sort of sting. She's the one keeping him down here right now after all.

"On average, humans can only last three days without water."

Already, something's telling her that Jay Halstead isn't average.

"What's it matter if he's going to kill me anyway?"

"He just wants to get paid," she tells him. _Lies_ to him. "It's not about killing you."

Jay scoffs and she wonders where he's drawing this strength from when he's been beaten and bound and kept down here; made to pee in front of her; had a gun pointed at him whilst doing it. "How much?"

"Five grand."

This time, he lets out something of a laugh: a crisp, staccato burst of air that's barely even tinged with humour, but Erin supposes that's what it's meant to represent. "You might as well tell your boyfriend to kill me now."

It'd be easier, she thinks. Easier if Charlie killed him now before this runs on any longer than it already has, but she knows he won't. Knows he'll wait at least until he's been paid - whatever capacity that might come in - and so she settles on the words "He'll get paid."

Jay says nothing more and so she heads up the stairs silently too, shuts and locks the basement door even though she'll have to reopen it in a few minutes anyway. She checks Jack first to make sure he's stayed ignorant to all of this; kisses his head and strokes her fingers over his tiny upturned palm, smiling as it twitches, before heading back to the kitchen.

There aren't any bottles of water in the refrigerator, nor cans of soda, but she spies a juice box on the top shelf next to the eggs and figures it'll do. Gun back in her right hand, she heads back down to Jay, stopping in front of him with the realisation she's going to have to hold the juice box for him.

"Here," she says gruffly. "There's no water so this'll have to do."

She pierces the hole with the straw and puts it to his lips, but Jay doesn't open them. If anything, he purses them closed tighter.

"I haven't got all day here Halstead."

That's when Erin spots the goosebumps covering his red flesh. She realises then, that this pursed stance he's in is because he's conserving his energy; trying to stop himself from losing anymore bodyheat. And so, making her next mistake in all of this, she bends so she can catch his gaze; gets him to look at her all without saying any words. When his lips part slightly, she forces the straw in as gently as she can. It takes a few seconds, but finally she sees the purple liquid begin to move up the straw as he sucks. He stares at her the entire time, and as uncomfortable as it is, Erin remains there, crouched in front of him as he consumes what's in the box.

She rises once he's done, feeling that inevitable burn in her thighs and the slight pull of the scar on her lower abdomen but does her best to ignore both.

"I'll uh, bring you a sweater," she tells him. "'S cold down here."

Jay doesn't reply as she backs away, gun pointed towards him at all times, even when she's heading back up the stairs.

She's only just locked the basement door and begun to make her way to the kitchen when she hears a key in the lock, manages somehow to turn and aim the gun, only to see Charlie entering the house with a hand up.

"Woah! Jeez Erin."

Her heart's hammering in her ears and she can hear nothing but that and a high-pitched continuous noise - something like ringing. Charlie's talking to her she knows, because she can see his lips moving, but no words are reaching her brain. He's coming towards her slowly, hand reaching out until it makes contact with her wrist, and only then do her senses return fully in a rush of noise.

"Calm the fuck down," Charlie's telling her. "You want a drink?"

She's nodding and all of a sudden desperate for that burning sensation that comes with gulping too much whiskey at once. The sweater she was about to head upstairs for is all but forgotten, and she wonders - as she brings the glass Charlie gives her to her lips with a shaking hand - how the hell she's going to keep going.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N - I'm so sorry about the time it's taken to upload this chapter! Work has been so crazy and I've been struck down with the flu, but finally managed to get this finished. Thank you so much for the reviews and messages :) I feel like this fandom's gone a little quiet lately - probably from the news about Sophia - but hoping lots of you are still interested in reading this (and the other two Linstead fics I had planned for afterwards!)**

 **Hope you enjoy x**

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A Fairytale By Another Name

She dreams of his eyes. The burning blue intensity that he stared at her with while she held the juicebox for him to drink from. The dream though, is interrupted by Jack's cries, at which Erin jumps from the couch with a pounding heart and no real sense of what time it is. She's up the stairs and soothing him before she has chance to catch her breath and it's only when she leans against the crib to steady herself that she realises it's still light outside; still the same day in which she'd allowed Jay to think he has any chance of getting out of that basement; still the same life she's awoken to.

"Hey," she tries her best to coo, attempting to keep her voice from wavering despite her son's piercing cries and a headache she's only just become attuned to. "It's alright."

That's a lie and she knows it. Jack, it seems, knows it too - judging by the continuous scream leaving his lungs. He must be hungry, she determines, having missed his feed because she was sleeping. And now she feels like even more of a crappy mother; feels even more like Bunny, who for all this time she's tried desperately not to emulate in order to save Jack from the life she had.

She has no idea where Charlie is right now. Figures he could've been next to her on the couch, or maybe he was down in the basement or fixing something to eat in the kitchen. In her haste to get upstairs though, she's forgotten her gun. It's a toss-up between putting Jack back in the crib so she can go down and get it - risk only herself if Jay has somehow gotten out of the basement - and just keeping him pressed to her chest in a (probably) futile bid to shush him while she makes up a bottle.

Keeping him with her wins out because if she puts him down now, he'll only scream louder, and so Erin makes her way downstairs to the kitchen.

"Charlie?" She asks lowly, keeping her voice steady in case Jay can hear. No answer comes but as she passes the door to the basement, she sees the lock in place, signalling that if he _is_ still here, so is Jay.

Jack's cries turn to whimpers as she spoons the formula into the bottle, silently curses herself for not having made some already so all she had to do was heat it up, and shushes him softly. She only realises she's shivering once the baby's finished his milk and she's paused long enough to properly catch her breath, and that's when she's reminded of the sweater she was going to get for Jay. She waits a while though, rocking Jack backwards and forwards even after he's long since drifted back to sleep - the motion more of a comfort for her by now, she figures.

Erin settles him back on the soft mattress of his crib, tucks the blanket in around him and then adds another from the little cupboard that houses his tiny items smelling like baby powder and sweet milk so he's not cold.

In her own drawers, she rakes to the bottom to find an old sweater of Charlie's he won't notice is missing, then one from near to the top for herself. She settles on a grey one for Jay - something inconspicuous that Charlie either won't recognise as his own, or won't care about when Erin makes up the story about wanting him to think he's going to get out; giving him reason not to make enough noise to alert the neighbours - and then rethinks the sweater for herself: putting the navy one back because it swamps her small frame and the last thing she needs Jay to realise is how slight she is. She can't let him think he has a chance, even if she _is_ the one with the gun.

She checks Jack before heading back downstairs, leans against the doorframe as his tiny chest rises up and down so rhythmically that if she stayed there long enough, she might even drift off herself. Her body is so achingly tired that she figures she might drop asleep anywhere at this point, but then a noise sounds from down in the basement and her veins are all aflame again: fizzing and humming with panic. Heading down there on her own terms is one thing but descending those stairs because Jay's forced her to is something else.

Gun in her right hand and the grey sweater in the other, she unlocks the door and clicks on the light. Its usual stuttering over, Erin heads down the stairs, her boots clacking against the wood.

"What?" she snaps, aiming the gun at the man in the corner in an attempt to portray confidence. It's easier to stick to single syllables during all of this: stops her voice from wavering quite so much.

"I need the bathroom."

"You went earlier," she replies, swallowing as she takes in his red skin and blueing lips.

"You gave me a juice box."

"Hold it." She throws the sweater towards him as some sort of distraction. "Here."

Jay looks up at her then, his eyes softening just a little as he fingers the soft material with what little room for manoeuvre he has. "This his?"

 _His_. Charlie's. "Who else's is it going to be?"

He drops it then; lets the material fall to the floor in a puddle at his feet. "I don't want it."

"It's cold down here."

"I don't want it." His voice is stronger this time. Louder. More assertive.

"You're freezing." That's the next mistake she makes: touching him to prove a point. Her bare fingertips against his bare forearm and it makes her jump - the ferocity of the jolt that flies through her at the contact. Erin hears herself gasp and stumbles backwards away from him, and yet he's staring at her like a rabbit caught in headlights; like he doesn't know himself what that just was. "Suit yourself," she all but whispers.

"Bathroom?" he queries softly, his voice dropping in infinite number of octaves from his earlier statement.

She swallows, her throat feeling like sandpaper and her tongue too clumsy in her mouth. His eyes are still rimmed with red, puffed underneath from lack of sleep, but he's staring at her with such purpose that he looks so infinitely alert. From somewhere though, Erin manages to find her voice: rough and terse in the stillness of the basement.

"Hold it."

She exits at that; prays to herself that he won't call out or clatter the pipes so that it echoes throughout the whole house - inside and out. And somehow, her prayers are answered because she makes it back up into the hallway, locks the basement door behind her and heaves out a shaking breath. The last thing Erin wants to admit is that such a small act has rattled her, and yet she knows it has. Knows too, that if she wants to keep Jay quiet, she's going to have to go back down there with food and a sweater that isn't Charlie's; going to have to go down there mentally prepared to allow his bathroom needs, to touch him when she loosens the knot in the rope; to make up some lie about his future - that he even has one.

Her stomach gurgles, reminding her she hasn't eaten in what feels like forever, even though she's felt constantly sick for the past few days, and so she collects herself enough to make it to the kitchen to rifle through the cupboards for something to make. There's a box of mac and cheese in there and she pulls it out, knocking over some cornmeal that spills all across the counter top, and curses as she surveys the mess it makes.

She follows the instructions on the box even though she's made this pasta a hundred times before, manages to pour out too much milk and then ends up with a lumpy sauce that pretty much resembles vomit in a pan. Still, Erin stirs it over the pasta and divides the contents between two bowls, takes one between her hands and leans back against the counter with its cornmeal mess while she stabs each noodle with her fork, chewing what's in her mouth and swallowing without really tasting it.

Once she's done, she sets the bowl beside the sink and takes a spoon from the drawer, holds it in between her fingers as she picks up the other dish of mac and cheese. A fork might be able to do some damage, she figures, but nobody ever got injured from being attacked with a spoon. That's when she spies the blanket draped over the back of the couch - the one that's a little threadbare and has been relegated to stand in only when her favoured blanket is in the wash. It'll do, Erin figures, for keeping the man in her basement warm enough not to catch hyperthermia in one of Chicago's coldest winters on record. Thing is, if she holds the blanket, she can't keep the gun pointed at him, but she also doesn't want to head down there and come straight back up again. So she makes a choice to drape it around her neck, takes care not to stumble over the ends of it when she descends those basement stairs for the second time in a half hour, and clicks the light on again.

"I brought you something to eat," she tells Jay dumbly, like he's not intelligent enough to work out the bowl of pasta is for him. "And uh...something to keep you warm."

He looks up at her, something flickering in his eyes that she can't discern (and probably shouldn't try to) and she sets the bowl down beside her feet, then hands over the blanket. "It's mine." Not a lie, though not exactly the whole truth either.

His hands brush hers, fingertips skirting fingertips as she makes the exchange, but she's prepared this time, stilling her body before it reacts and gives anything away.

"Thanks."

He shouldn't be thanking her. Not for any of it, and his response makes her feel insanely guilty, the one syllable thick with sincerity when all she is is a fraud.

"You going to untie me?"

"I'm not going to feed you myself." It's easier to be sharper with him. Safer.

"Okay," Jay answers cautiously, his gaze boring into her while she sets down the gun, barrel pointing towards him. Unlooping the rope isn't difficult in itself, but when she's making sure to keep skin contact to a minimum to prevent whatever it is that happens when they touch, the challenge proves significantly harder. She's close enough to him to feel his breath on her cheek; to smell the faint mix of mint and cinnamon that comes from chewing Big Red, and her heart rate ramps up unexpectedly at the overwhelming proximity. At the thought too, that she's taking a huge risk here in allowing him such a small slice of freedom - albeit only in terms of his arms.

"You think since you're untying me, I could use the bathroom?"

Erin knows she should say no, just to remind him again who it is that has the power here, but there's something inside of her telling her he doesn't need that - knows that the hierarchy was established the moment Charlie brought him into the car and she drove it here.

"Fine. Make it quick."

She passes him the bucket from earlier and turns to a side so she can see everything he's doing if she chooses to. He pees and she tries to conjure up a scenario in which they'll get out of this without incident, but it never comes.

Once he's done, he sits back down and she hands him the bowl of mac and cheese - long since having grown cold - and yet he wolfs it down like it's a gourmet meal. He's on his final mouthful when they hear the front door open, both looking up towards the stairs and then back at each other, like children sharing a guilty secret, and she supposes that probably, this might be just that.

"Erin?!" Comes the thunderous voice and she realises all at once that Jay's still untied, Jack's upstairs and could wake any minute at the sudden booming volume, Charlie's given away her name, and her heart leaps into her throat, her fingers shoving the rope into some semblance of a knot around his wrists before she's even realised what she's doing. It's clumsy and haphazard but Charlie won't notice. She just about manages to retrieve the gun from the floor before he makes it to the bottom of the stairs and surveys the blanket and nearly empty bowl, the spoon Jay was using having been kicked to a side during the rush.

"He causing trouble?" He asks.

She knows Jay's eyes are on the floor even without looking. "I was just reminding him how he needs to stay quiet," she somehow manages through the lump in her throat.

Charlie looks at Jay then, narrows his dark eyes and takes in the blanket and the bowl.

"Next time he's hungry, give him crackers," he instructs. "Don't waste the good stuff."

"My brother pay you yet?" Jay asks suddenly, his voice cutting through the heavy air. Erin thinks she hears her heart literally stop beating until Charlie answers, his voice laced with venom. "You don't get to ask the questions." He follows it up with a sharp kick to Jay's lower legs, and yet it's Erin who winces, then silently chides herself for it. She picks up the bowl and the spoon, tries desperately to fight looking at Jay's face - and fails, the expression drawn upon it etched into her brain - and makes for the stairs.

"Come on," she tells Charlie. "I'll make you something to eat."

He complies - miraculously - although not without a second kick for good measure, but Erin refrains from using his name in a bid to stop him: won't slip up the way he did just moments ago.

She locks the basement door and watches as Charlie sinks onto the couch, still clad in his winter coat despite the significantly warmer heat of the living room.

"Why were you down there?" he asks, not bothering to turn to face her as she heads on into the kitchen. "He makin' a noise?"

"No," she lies. "But we need him to think he's gonna get out. Stop him from causing a scene. I took him something to eat."

He seems to think it over for a moment before settling for her explanation without further question.

"Where were you?"

"At work."

She knows that's a coded _don't ask_. She doesn't press further. He gets up then, makes his way to her to settle in behind her back and she knows it's meant for reassurance; meant to relax her but she can't, and she ducks out from his arms under the pretence of needing crisco from the cabinet across from where they are. She doesn't even know what she's making really, but figures it's going to have to be pancakes now: it's not like there's any chicken in the refrigerator for frying.

"You should get some rest," Charlie decides, taking the tub from her hand. "I'll keep an eye out."

"Jack's napping," she sighs. "He'll be up in a half hour or so."

"I've got it."

"What if -"

"- I've got it." He repeats, and Erin nods in agreement.

"Okay."

She's halfway out of the room when she turns back, watches the father of her child scoop the shortening from the tub in a way so unlike he was earlier that she feels herself soften just a little. "You used my name in front of him."

"What?"

"When you came down to the basement. You called out my name."

She watches the realisation cross his face like a grey cloud on a windy day. "We'll be more careful."

She nods - only once - and heads upstairs.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N - Thank you, thank you, thank you for your reviews last chapter. A few of you have figured we're about to pick up pace and you're right. Hope you enjoy this x**

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A Fairytale By Another Name

She wakes with a start, initially unsure of what it is that's invaded her conscious enough to rouse her, but once she's blinked blindly into the darkness a few times, she realises it's Jack's whimpering. Erin pulls herself from the bed, shivers in the cool air and makes a mental reminder to ask Charlie to fix the window once all of this is done. _If_ all of this is ever done, she adds.

"Hey little guy," she whispers, picking Jack up from his crib and noting that he's dressed in a different sleepsuit than earlier. So Charlie's at least taken care of that one. The baby burrows his little head into her chest in search of her skin and she feels such an overwhelming rush of love for him that she almost can't breathe. It amazes her even now after the three months he's been here with them how much she loves him; how utterly perfect he is. His whimpering subsides and she rocks with him a little until she hears an almighty thud - one that couldn't possibly come from anywhere other than the basement.

"Charlie?" she asks without raising her voice too much. She doesn't want to draw Jay's attention to his name and she doesn't want to unsettle Jack either. There's no answer so she hisses his name louder. "Charlie?"

Again, there's no answer but she hears another thud, louder this time, and her stomach drops. Jack must sense her unease, his previous quietness giving over to a small cry and then a louder one when she offers her lips to his head. She feels like a terrible mother and when there's a third thud and she has to lay Jack back in the crib despite his cries, that guilt over not being enough for him multiplies tenfold.

She takes the gun and heads downstairs, trying and failing to block out Jack's cries but she can hear them when she's in the hallway and she already knows - when she spies the open door to the basement - that they'll be heard down there too. The glock out in front of her, she takes a cautious step, first to her boots that are sitting by the door, and once they're laced on her feet, she heads down the wooden stairs as quietly as she can.

Erin opens her mouth to let Jay know she's armed but then thinks better of it in case she needs the element of surprise to help her out. As soon as he comes into focus though, she realises what that thudding was. Jay's lying practically motionless on the concrete floor, blood pouring from his nose and pooling beside him. One of his legs is bent at an angle which makes her think it's probably broken somewhere, and Charlie is standing beside him a little breathless.

"You piece of shit," she catches him spitting at the man they've held here for the past few days, the same man whose eyes are open, albeit barely, and fixing on hers.

All she wants to do is run. Run as far away as she can get with Jack: far from this city; from Charlie; from this basement and that rope and Jay; from the shadows of her past that still follow her everywhere because she's stuck in this life she never signed up for. And yet she doesn't. She can't because he feet won't move and her mouth won't open and she's not even sure her finger would work if she tried to pull the trigger.

Jay's still staring at her, almost lifelessly, until Jack's cries filter through to her brain and she turns her head back to the top of the staircase briefly; contemplates going to comfort him but she knows this is bigger. This mess is what she needs to sort first. She turns her attention back to the pool of blood on the floor and Jay's crumpled body and she knows he knows about Jack. Can tell somehow, from the way he's looking at her.

Only when she takes a final step on one of the creaking stairs does Charlie turn and notice her. Throwing in one last kick for good measure it seems, he turns and heads up the stairs without another word. All Erin can do is follow.

"I went to his place. There's cops everywhere," Charlie hisses, stomping into the kitchen and searching for the bottle of brandy she knows he's probably going to drain dry. She's still unaware of the time - the view outside of the windows nothing but blackness - but it ceases to matter at the present moment.

"You went to his place?" she asks, forcing herself to stay in the same room as him rather than comfort Jack. "Why?"

"To get payment. Figured there'd be a car or something I could sell. Pay the debt that way so we can kill him."

Erin's stomach lurches at the thought. "Where's his brother?"

"In the wind. Fuck Erin! You think the cops are gonna find out this leads back here?"

 _Yes_. "Not if his brother comes back. You know where he went?"

"That's what I was trying to find out but that asshole down there wouldn't tell me anything."

She holds in the sigh threatening to leave her lips but it's a harder feat than she'd anticipated. "So what, you thought beating him up would help?"

"Helps in reminding him who's in control here." He turns with the bottle in his hand, victorious - if only in regard to finding the alcohol.

" _Are_ you?" Erin can't help but ask.

Charlie's head snaps up at the same time as his eyes narrow venomously. "Of course."

She can't ignore Jack's crying any longer and heads up to his room, her life a never-ending series of staircases these days it seems. Her son's little arms are outstretched for her when she enters, her heart splintering when she sees the tears on his skin. And that's when it hits her. If Charlie had found out that the cops were at Jay's place, it means he'd either taken their child with him when he went there, or - possibly worse - left him while she was sleeping.

She scoops Jack from his crib and shushes him with a promise that's he's okay; that she's here, and heads back to the kitchen.

"When you went to Jay's place earlier," she begins, accusatory in her tone. "Where was Jack?"

"Here."

"You left our son _here_ , with him in the basement and -"

"- And what? You wanted me to take him with me?!"

"One of us stays awake at all times," she bites. "That's what you said. That's how we'd keep Jack safe."

"He _was_ safe Erin! There's a lock on the basement door, you sleep with a gun, you -"

"- Get a plan Charlie," she warns, her tone low and seething. "Get a fucking plan."

She leaves for the living room, picking up the stuffed animal from the floor so she can focus her attention on playing with their child. She half expects him to follow, to apologise but he doesn't. There's the noise of liquid tipping in the brandy bottle and all she can think of is Jay's twisted body lying below them and what if it were Jack?

Suddenly, she hears the sounds of keys scraping against the counter, followed by Charlie's boots on the floor.

"Where are you going?" she asks.

"Out."

"Where?"

"To get a plan."

He says no more and shuts the front door behind him. Erin takes Jack and the stuffed animal and carries them upstairs, setting them in the crib he seems to spend more time in than she'd like. He's content enough though with the little white rabbit and she waits for the noise of the car engine to fade, then fills a plastic bowl with warm water before fishing a clean flannel out of the bathroom cupboard. With the bowl balancing against her hip and her gun in her other hand, it's hard to maneuver her way around without spilling the water. She's more than a little damp by the time she makes it down to the basement but it's a small trade-off for having the security of her weapon.

Her breath catches in her throat when she sees Jay lying there, body twisted and already swollen with bruises. She makes her way over tentatively, setting the bowl down first and spilling a little more of the water accidentally.

"Your face," she whispers, shocked even after all of this time at the brutality of the way in which Charlie operates sometimes. "You should've just told him."

Jay keeps his lips pursed closed - not that she expects him to talk to her after what she witnessed (and did nothing to stop).

She sets the gun down on the floor, barrel pointed at him like always but he stares at her the whole time, just watching; waiting, she supposes, to see what she'll do. To see whether she'll try and break him too. Except, Erin decides, he must sense she doesn't have the same intentions Charlie does because he makes no attempt to shy away from her. The silence is overwhelming and the heat of his gaze on her is only making her feel more suffocated, and so she speaks again.

"I brought something to clean you up with."

"You think he isn't going to notice if my face no longer has blood on it?" Jay grits out - the words threatening to betray his pain out loud.

She looks at him for a moment, that power in the blue of his irises - despite the overpowering pain there - threatening to overwhelm her at any moment, but she manages to find some casualness from somewhere deep inside of her, pull it up and out into the room before this all goes horribly wrong. Or, _more_ horribly wrong. "He's not going to be thinking about your face."

Erin squeezes the water out of the flannel but then as she steps closer, realises the angle he's lying at due to Charlie's ministrations is going to mean the droplets will trickle onto him and so she sets the flannel back in the bowl, wiping her hands on her jeans.

"Do you want to sit up?"

Jay doesn't answer and she figures she can't really blame him. She looks back at his leg and the awkward angle it's bent at. She could untie him and even if he tried anything, he wouldn't be able to get very far. Besides, she's the one with the gun.

"I'm going to take the rope off," she tells him. "But if you try anything, I'll shoot. Don't forget that."

He still doesn't respond but he's watching her intently as she loosens the knot in the rope, sliding the ends until his wrists are free - save for the cable tie. He pulls them in towards his chest and she notes the redness of his skin where the plastic has grated it away.

"Your wrists are sore," she tells him, like it's a fact he might just have overlooked in the grand scheme of things. Her words are clumsy and she regrets them the instant they leave her mouth but for some reason, Jay responds.

"Tried to pull the tie off. Obviously it didn't work."

Erin isn't sure what makes her make the offer she does - stupidity, probably - but yet, "If I cut it, do you promise not to do anything?"

"My legs are tied to this radiator," he says. "And I'm pretty sure this one is fractured at the very least. Couldn't get far if I tried."

The thought should comfort her somewhat - at least in this situation - but it doesn't. It just sends another wave of guilt washing over her. "I'll be one minute."

She practically races up the stairs and to the kitchen, almost forgetting the gun in her haste. Grabbing the pair of scissors and a couple more cable ties from the drawer and with an ear out for Jack who thankfully remains quiet, she heads back down more cautiously, gun aimed at Jay until she's sure he hasn't moved. Again, she sets the it by her side - barrel end pointing his way - and reminds him not to do anything stupid. The tie breaks with one clean cut and she lifts away the plastic gently, careful not to slide it against the broken skin. It takes some effort and she can't _not_ hear the wince that escapes his lips when he pulls his body up into a sitting position, but when her help, Jay finally arranges himself so his leg is at what she supposes might be a more comfortable angle.

"Thank you," he tells her softly; so softly she feels like a fraud. He shouldn't be thanking her for anything. Rather than say this however, she just nods and squeezes the excess water from the flannel.

He watches her the whole time, eyes boring into hers each time she looks up from the bowl of water which is now pink-brown with his blood. It's smothering, the way he looks at her sometimes, and she only notices when she wipes at his forehead that her hand is shaking. Jay's attention is finally diverted enough it seems for him to notice it too, and rather than commenting, he lifts his own hand, settling his palm over her wrist so that his thumb meets his middle finger.

Erin glances down at their joined limbs and feels her breath hitch high in her throat. She forces herself to swallow and continues wiping carefully at the dried blood, all of the time Jay's hand remaining on her wrist to stem the shaking.

Eventually, she needs to clean the flannel and so he drops his hand from hers. When he doesn't put it back there, she tries desperately not to feel the sense of loss that has no right to accompany this situation but it hits her anyway, smack between the eyes like a warning sign.

Once she's finished cleaning his face, she takes a proper look at his injuries. One of his cheekbones is flame red with undertones of purple and green, his eye matching that with a smattering of yellow too. His lip is split and she realises there's a caking of dried blood at the corner of his mouth and so she dips the flannel, squeezing the water out for a final time before tentatively sliding the material across his skin. His breath is hot against her hand; hot in the coldness of the basement where it fogs between them, her own mixing in too she supposes, until there's a culmination of them both: storm clouds gathering and threatening to spill over.

"You have a child," Jay says, eyes locking on hers and she keeps her hand there against his lip.

It's silent for way too long until she swallows past the lump in her throat. "If you do _anything_ to hurt him -"

"- You think I'd do that?"

"I don't know you," she grits out, dropping her hand so some of the excess water from the flannel trickles down her wrist and drips onto her jeans. "Cops do shitty stuff all the time."

"Well if you're going to know one thing," he tells her, shifting slightly and her neck prickles, flames and burns as she edges back towards her gun, "it's that I wouldn't hurt a kid."

He makes no mention of never hurting her or Charlie, and she knows he would given half a chance. Knows he _should_ , too.

"If you know where your brother is," Erin says, changing the subject because the last thing she wants to do is give away details about her son. "You need to tell him."

"So he can kill me faster?"

"So he can get the money and let you go."

Jay makes a sound something between a laugh and a groan - his ribs reminding him, she figures, that he's injured. "He isn't going to let me go."

She doesn't know what to say to that; isn't sure how he's managed to figure it out. They have to be better, she thinks. Bring him food and let him use the bathroom; try and convince him there's something better than the worst possible end to all of this so he'll give up the information.

"I've known that since the first day I got here."

"You need the bathroom?", she asks, bringing out the cable ties in order to end this train of conversation.

Something in his eyes flickers, disappointment maybe, but as quickly as it appears it leaves again. His reply is staccato and clipped. "No."

"Okay." She loops the tie around Jay's wrists, careful not to catch the sharp plastic against his broken skin. Next comes the rope - a perfectly executed figure of nine knot that binds him helplessly back to the radiator.

The atmosphere shifts and she can't look at him when she bends to collect the bowl and her gun. She turns to leave, limbs heavy and eyes burning with what she hopes aren't tears.

"Erin," he says softly as she's almost reached the top of the stairs. She tries desperately not to feel her heart jerk at the way he says her name but like everything lately, she fails in her attempt. Dipping her head, she turns it just a fraction towards him. "I don't blame you."

She says nothing more, just lets herself out of the basement and locks the door.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N - Huge thank you for your reviews and messages last chapter. I know I always say it but they really do mean a lot and motivate me to update sooner. I'm glad you're enjoying this and hope you enjoy this chapter also. xxx**

* * *

A Fairytale By Another Name

Charlie's return is signalled when the front door flies open and ricochets back off of the wall, leaving a handle-shaped dent as a token gesture. It's close to 2am and the sudden intrusion makes her realise she's been dozing on the couch, about which panic sets in when she can't immediately locate her gun, and only ceases when she finds it beside her feet on the floor.

He's drunk: Erin can already smell the alcohol radiating off of him and he's barely stepped into the living room. She figures there's no plan yet - he'd have been more purposeful and much more sober if there was - and whether or not he's driven back seems irrelevant because she's so unbelievably tired that the only words she has the energy left to say are,

"It's your turn to stay up. I'm going to bed."

He doesn't argue and he doesn't tell her he's come up with something to get them out of this either. All in all, pretty much what she's come to expect.

Erin checks on Jack before slipping into her own room and swapping her jeans and sweater for an old pair of leggings, hoodie and thick socks to keep out the cold. It's been too long, she thinks, she's she's slept next to Charlie so his body heat can keep her warm. Too long also, since she's been held by him (or even held by anyone) and she finds herself looking forward to the day Jack can offer his arms in a hug.

Her train of thought drifts to Jay as it so often does during the minutes she isn't down in the basement with him, and she finds herself wondering whether or not he holds anyone at night. Sure, he's left behind his brother but does he have a girlfriend? A family of his own? She's never thought about it before and she doesn't think she's seen a wedding ring on his left hand but that doesn't mean there isn't someone much like herself (except wholly inherently _better_ than she is) waiting by the phone; listening out for any noise that might signal his key in the lock or his boots outside the door.

It almost doesn't matter though, she figures, because whether or not there is someone waiting for him at home, Jay isn't going to get the chance to see them again - at least, not if all of this plays out the way Charlie intends it.

Erin curls up under the sheets, drawing her legs to her chest so she's conserving as much heat as possible, her head resting on the pillow and again, her thoughts turn to Jay and the single blanket she'd given him; his lack of pillow and no doubt aching neck; his red, broken skin so alike her own hands when the wet and the searing cold attack them if she's forgotten gloves. She should take him a pillow at least. A pillow and a hot drink of sorts - maybe a coffee, but then that would defeat the object wouldn't it? This can wait until the morning, Erin tells herself, this display of guilt so obvious it might as well come with a neon sign. But then, it's cold _now_. It's night _now_. Her eyes and limbs protest as she moves the sheets back but trying to sleep is probably futile anyway: her brain isn't about to switch off any time soon so she can get some rest.

There's a spare blanket in the cupboard that she drags out, the patchwork squares pulling up a kaleidoscope of images before her eyes. She hasn't used this blanket since the last night she spent living on the street; had washed it and put it away the day Charlie brought her here with the hope that she'd never need it again (but the knowledge too, that she might) but Jay doesn't need to know its significance.

There are four pillows on her bed: two of which are redundant for the remainder of the time he spends down in the basement and so Erin tucks one under her arm, the blanket draped over the top and she grabs the gun with her spare hand, stopping only to put her boots on.

Charlie is, as she suspected he would be, pretty much comatose on the couch with the only indication he's alive being the loud snores. She thinks of Jack back upstairs but then Jay's words filter through: _if you're going to know one thing, it's that I wouldn't hurt a kid_. Somehow, she believes him. She unlocks the basement door, clicks on the light and waits the obligatory twenty seconds for the bulb to work properly before heading down, gun extended as always.

Jay's blinking in the sudden light at her when she edges closer, red-eyed and wracked with exhaustion.

"Brought you these," she tells him. "Maybe you can sleep."

He seems to stare at her for a while like he's unsure as to whether she means it; whether she's going to dangle these two luxury items in front of him and then take them away again. But then he finds his words, rough and dry in the cold. "Thank you."

She wishes he wouldn't thank her. It makes it harder, going back upstairs and knowing he's grateful for the scraps of basic human decency she grants him when Charlie seems dead set on giving nothing. Instead of voicing this however, Erin simply nods and turns.

"Can you…" Jay trails off, indicating the pillow and blanket with a movement of his head. "I can't adjust them myself."

Well of course. Another oversight and she lets out a sigh she didn't know she was holding. She sets the gun down - pointed towards him of course - and picks up the pillow.

"Against the radiator?" Her voice sounds like it belongs to someone else.

"Yeah."

Erin leans forward to secure the pillow behind Jay's head. There isn't much room and she makes the mistake of looking towards him when he leans his head back. Suddenly, he's everywhere: his scent invading her nostrils; breath tickling her neck (and somehow _not_ tickling it too; somehow something much more significant than just _tickling_ ) eyes burning into hers and she feels her own breathing falter - feels it catch and stick in her throat so she's forced to swallow hard several times.

"You want the blanket too?"

"Yes," His lips are so, so overwhelmingly close. Dangerously close. "Please."

Tearing her eyes away, she steps back towards the folded blanket with its patchwork squares and hidden secrets. His arms catch her eye: folded and bound to the radiator, but they look strong. Full, she decides, like a shield. And she finds herself on that train of thought she had upstairs earlier - the one where she wonders whether he holds anyone at night; wonders too, what it would feel like to be held by him.

"Erin?" he asks, and it breaks her from it, makes her look back at his face.

"Sorry," she replies without thinking, only realising after that it's the first time she's said it.

She bends to tuck the material round him and he offers the smallest hint of a smile. "Thank you."

She can't hear it again and simply nods, picks up the gun and heads back upstairs. By the time she lays back down in her bed, tears are streaming down her face and she does the only thing she can, and screams into the pillow.

X

Charlie joins her at some point, making the mattress dip so she ends up rolling a little towards the middle. He smells like stale alcohol and cigarettes but he puts his arm around her and for the first time in so long, it feels comforting - having him so close. She leaves it a minute; allows herself that window of time to shift closer to him before she breaks it.

"Jay -"

"- He's tied to the radiator Erin. He isn't going anywhere."

She knows that, she thinks, deep down. The culmination of the rope and his injured leg and the locked door are preventing an escape, but she can't rest if at least one of them isn't between Jay and Jack. And the thing is, as big as Charlie is, she still trusts herself more to fight that battle - to be the one to protect their son - so she extracts herself from the sheets and his arm so she can check on Jack first, then wait out the time until dawn downstairs.

Her baby boy is sound asleep, dressed in a navy sleepsuit that keeps his feet warm and lying underneath a blanket that stops him from wriggling too far into the side of his crib. Erin just watches him for a while, noting the way his tiny lips are parted and his eyelids are fluttering, deep in the throes of a dream and ignorant to the man in his parents' basement.

She leaves his room after a while though, her gun by her side as always, and trudges sleepily down the stairs and to the coffee machine. She's barely two sips in, searching the cupboard for the animal crackers to snack on when she hears the clang of the radiator in the basement. It seems almost like Jay can sense it's her up above him and she wonders whether maybe he can: he is a cop after all.

He speaks before she does. She's barely stepped onto the second stair when he tells her he needs to use the bathroom.

"I'll get a tie," she tells him, turning on the spot to retrieve one of the plastic strands from the kitchen.

When she returns, he's watching her intently. "You okay?"

His question actually makes her laugh. "You shouldn't be asking me that."

"I am though."

"I know. And you care? _Really_?"

"You're the one bringing me food and letting me go to the bathroom," he tells her softly, "So…"

"Right."

She avoids his question and sets the gun down instead, focusing her attention on the rope. She knows his eyes are trained on her but she keeps herself rigid, willing her hands not to shake.

"You're cold." He states.

"I'm always cold." Her voice is flat and she's appreciative.

"The second blanket's better," Jay tells her. "It's warm."

Erin only nods.

"The pillow too. I got some sleep."

She wants him to stop talking. It's too early (or too late, depending on whether dawn is closer than dusk at this point) "Uh huh."

She cuts the tie but they both recognise the problem as soon as she hands him the bucket.

"I'll figure it out," he tells her, referencing his injured leg and current position.

She turns forty-five degrees so he's in her peripheral vision but she doesn't actually have to see anything. It becomes clear though, from the way he's sucking in his breath, that he's in pain. Using the radiator to brace himself against, he just about manages and Erin's more than grateful to hear his zipper.

"Tha -" he starts, signaling he's done, but she cuts him off.

"- Don't. Don't _thank_ me."

She feels sick with guilt. Wonders what her comeuppance will be either later on in this life or in the next one. She can only pray that whatever it is doesn't affect Jack: he shouldn't have to live with all of the mistakes she's made. And that guilt makes her commit her next mistake.

"You want breakfast?"

"What're you offering?" Something's shifted in his voice despite the struggle he's having to sit back down. "Eggs Florentine?"

She doesn't know what that is but somehow, she's embarrassed; she doesn't want him to find out her knowledge of breakfast foods is less than admirable and so she makes a joke instead. One that falls flat and tastes sour.

"Sounds like something your girlfriend would make you eat at Sunday brunch with her parents."

Jay doesn't laugh, but seems to sense her discomfort and rather than closing their conversation, he lightens it. She doesn't deserve it. "Buttermilk pancakes then. Or anything with bacon. I'd kill for a tray of crispy bacon right now." He seems to realise his own mistake and so this time Erin steps in.

"I think there's some frozen waffles in the freezer. I can probably make some rubbery scrambled eggs too if you're interested, but there's no bacon."

He smiles, actually fucking _smiles_ at her and something in her chest tightens so much it feels like it's going to snap.

"Rubbery scrambled eggs and waffles sounds great."

"No," she says, reaching to bind his wrists back together with the cable tie. "It doesn't."

X

"Nothing for you?" Jay asks when she brings down his plate and spoon.

"I'll eat later."

"It'll go cold."

"It's not like that would be the worst thing about it," she tries to joke as she cuts the brand new cable tie, unsure why she's even bothering to put in the effort to keep things light when the reality is anything but. "I'm not great at cooking." An involuntary shiver passes through her, knocking her teeth together so they chatter loudly.

"Here," he says, holding out the blanket for her.

It makes her stop to look at him - really look at him. Yes, his eyes are puffy and rimmed with red but they're soft too. Kind. Concerned for her welfare even, not that he has any business in that department.

Erin shakes her head and gestures at the plate. "Eat it before it goes cold."

He does and she watches him cut the waffles with the spoon, devouring them along with the eggs like she's made him a gourmet meal. She finds him more fascinating than she should - this six foot man with his strong arms and bruised face; the bluest cut-glass eyes that should watch her with utter hatred but never do.

"You're a bad cop," she tells him when he's done, the plate so clean it looks like he's licked it.

The words slip out before she can catch them, spilling into the basement with its freezing air and echoing space. Something like humour flickers in Jay's eyes but leaves again before she can pin it down to decipher it fully. "Because I ended up here?"

"'Cause your brother is buying drugs off of a man like…" she stops short of saying Charlie's name.

"Like your boyfriend."

She nods.

"And I didn't stop him."

"Why didn't you?"

He seems to huff out a sigh but she finds herself curious about his answer and waits for the words to come. She probably shouldn't. She does anyway.

"He has his reasons for using them."

"Aren't you mad at him?" Erin asks.

"For what?"

"Being here."

A sound part-way between a chuckle and another sigh escapes his lips. "I'm here because your boyfriend knocked me out," he says. "Not because my brother uses."

A fair assessment, she figures, but her questions seem to have given him the idea that this conversation can be turned on its head. "Why are you with him?"

She's not stupid. She knows he's referring to Charlie, even though he doesn't know his name. "You're loyal to him," Jay continues. "You don't use his name; don't argue with him; you let him sleep when you're exhausted -"

"- He's…" she starts, mainly just to cut him off so she doesn't have to hear it, her eyes cast down at the floor.

"He's what?"

 _The father of my child_ , she thinks. _The reason I'm not living on the streets; the reason I'm not using; the reason I don't have to sell myself for food_.

"He's what, Erin?" She looks back up at his use of her name, all soft and careful but insistent somehow. She's just not sure what it is that he's waiting for.

"You done?" she asks instead, changing the subject and gesturing to the plate he's holding - the answer to her question blindingly obvious. He seems to understand that's all he's going to get and nods.

"It was good."

"No it wasn't."

"Okay, it wasn't Wildberry, but it was better than my mom used to make."

The sudden mention of his mother shouldn't throw her off centre but it does; makes her wonder if he too had the kind of childhood where he was never sure what he was going to come home from school to. Where there was an equal chance of finding a box of crackers or a mouse in the kitchen cupboard. But then she decides _no_ , he's too good for that. Too clean and gentle - no hard edges left to defend himself with. Erin only nods and gestures to the radiator.

"Can I have five minutes?" he asks. "To use my feet?"

"No."

"Erin, please -"

"- You think because I brought you food and you talked about your family that this somehow makes us friends? Like I'm going to go easy on you?"

She notes the sag of his body against the cold metal and hates herself even more. But she can't be the weak link; can't break Charlie's trust.

"I don't think that," he tells her. "But I can hardly feel my legs and my back is killing me."

She wants to let him, she really does. But she can't. "I'll come down later," she decides aloud. "You can stand then."

Jay nods and she swallows. Hard.

Her hands shake as she's tying him back up but this time he doesn't still them with his own. Her skin seems to burn as he watches her but all the time she keeps her own gaze fixed on the rope until it's secure and she can pick up the empty plate.

Neither of them say anything more as she heads up the stairs and locks the door behind her.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N - This has to be my fastest update! Kudos to me (yeah? no?) ;) The weather in the UK has been awful for the past few days so I've been able to just write and listen to music so this happened as a result.**

 **I don't normally suggest a playlist for reading a chapter, but if you're into that, the following is what I listened to/was inspired by:**

 **Let Me In - Snowmine (which is where the lyrics are taken from)**

 **Hologram - Snowmine**

 **Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby - Cigarettes After Sex**

 **Take Me Somewhere Nice - Mogwai**

* * *

A Fairytale By Another Name

 _I left my shoes under your bed_

 _But I left my body outside_

 _How did I get back into this mess?_

 _I kept telling myself the temptations would do me in_

 _And they did_

She makes the decision to confront Charlie about his lack of plan when she's giving Jack his first bottle of the day with the very last of his formula. It's snowing again outside, thick, heavy flakes coating everything and anything so the whole street looks like it's been swamped by an unearthly white substance, but she figures she's going to have to bundle her baby boy up so they can make the trek to the grocery store.

She can't keep doing this: living this existence where she's torn between protecting the man downstairs and supporting the one who saved her all of those years ago. Jay's done nothing to deserve this; hasn't even put up a fight but Charlie's the one who brought her in from the street so she didn't have to sell herself to buy food (and, obviously, to buy worse things) and she owes him this, she figures. Owes him blind faith because she doesn't have anything else to offer, and so she'll tell him they need to end it. Tell him too, to forget about being paid: send a message, okay, but who's it going to reach when he's holding out for money he's never going to get?

She knows a place by the silos they could hide the body. Burn it and destroy the evidence of their fingerprints. Wipe the basement clean or torch that too. It all seems entirely plausible until the thought of charred flesh jars her stomach and she vomits into the sink, Jack crying into her chest as she holds him against her so as not to cover him. Erin knows she's never been a good person, not really, but she's never been _this_ terrible a human being before - doesn't even know if she can call herself that when she's contemplating the best way to dispose of the innocent cop in her basement.

She rinses her mouth with water, cups some into her hand so it's cold, and then wipes at her face before drying her skin with the sleeve of the plaid shirt she's wearing.

"I'm sorry baby," she whispers against Jack's head, shifting him so his crying subsides. Those words seem to be all she says to him lately. "I'm so sorry."

Maybe they move. Maybe they can just leave Jay down in the basement and the cops will find him or he'll make enough noise to alert the neighbours. They'll be long out of the city before that happens, Chicago and all of its awful truths behind them. They can make a new life somewhere nobody knows them; maybe she can even get a job in a grocery store or something. Change their names. Cut Charlie's hair - grow and dye hers too. Be decent citizens who pay taxes and get invited to neighbourhood barbeques.

It's a fantasy and she knows it.

The stairs creak signalling Charlie's presence and she waits for him to enter the kitchen. He does, pulling a hand through his hair and looking about as rough as she feels.

"We're out of formula," Erin tells him as he pours himself a mug of coffee.

He sighs but says nothing, until: "Did you cook?"

"I was hungry," she lies, more than glad that she'd had the sense to wash the dishes and pan as soon as she brought Jay's empty plate back up from the basement. She doesn't want to lie to Charlie but she knows instinctively that telling him the extent of Jay's comfort is a bad move. "You want me to make you some?"

"Nah," he replies. "I'm going to head out."

"What about Jay?"

"What about him?"

"If we're both out, he might make enough noise to get someone's attention."

"Then don't go out," Charlie says like it's the most obvious solution.

"But Jack needs formula."

He sighs again. "I'll call by the store."

"Will you…" she pauses, realising she sounds like one of those girls who's paranoid. Maybe, she figures, she is. "Will you be gone long?"

The unvoiced question, along with that one, is _where are you going_? She knows he won't tell her; that it'll be something to do with his _trade_ , and she has the smallest hint of hope that he's come up with something.

"No." He offers nothing more and Erin doesn't press.

"Okay."

Charlie drinks his coffee and she hands him Jack so she can have a quick shower, the feel of the hot water against her skin soothing until she turns up the heat so it burns, so her skin is so red by the time she steps out from the curtain that she looks like she's spent too long in the sun. The feeling she usually gets from being clean like this never comes: she still feels dirty. Polluted. Like all the bad things she's done have infected her body so her exterior matches her insides.

She towels off and takes a clean pair of jeans, a long t-shirt and a sweater from the single set of drawers in her bedroom, pulls on a pair of Charlie's boot socks too because they're warmer than hers, and then ties her hair into a ponytail so the damp strands don't soak her clothes.

The tangled bed sheets catch her eye and she reaches to strip them, but then decides against it, no real reason other than _not now_. Not now because she'd told Jay he could stretch his legs later, said _later_ being when Charlie leaves and he's leaving now.

The front door closes and the car engine starts and she takes Jack upstairs, setting him in his crib with a stuffed dog that barks when its paw is pressed. She presses it a couple times, smiling involuntarily when the baby does, and nuzzles his neck with the dog's soft material. Pressing a kiss to his head, she tells him she loves him then leaves the room, the door only slightly ajar.

Erin stops by the kitchen for another cable tie, then notes the amount of coffee left in the jug and figures she could extend the courtesy to Jay: take him a mug of it as a silent apology for the thoughts she'd had earlier. He deserves more than coffee though, she knows, and yet it's all she can offer (except, of course, his freedom - only that isn't an option really)

Stuffing the cable tie and the small pair of scissors into her pocket, she plucks two mugs from the cupboard, pours the coffee into one and then adds a healthy spoonful of sugar. The hot liquid sloshes a little over the side and only then does she realise her unsteady hands. The other mug waits on the counter and in a snap decision, she adds coffee and sugar to that one too, sliding her gun into her pocket before heading down to the basement.

Jay looks somewhat surprised when he sees her, like he's forgotten all about the fact she said he could stretch his legs when they talked earlier.

"Brought you coffee," she tells him as though it isn't obvious from the mugs she's carrying.

That expression in his eyes flickers again. "Thanks."

"You want to stretch first?"

"Please," he answers gratefully and she sets the coffee mugs down on the stairs, far enough away that if something goes terribly wrong, he doesn't get the chance to use the crockery as a weapon. She thinks she believes that he wouldn't hurt Jack, but she's not sure he would hesitate to hurt her given half a chance, and so she knows she can't allow him even the smallest window of opportunity. Her gun she sets on the floor, barrel end towards him and she thinks there's the hint of a smile ghosting his lips as she leans towards him to untie the rope.

"You didn't point your gun," he says softly, "when you came down."

"It was by my side," she answers. Then adds, "ready - if I needed it."

"It was nice," he continues like he hasn't heard her. "Not to have that as the first thing I saw."

It isn't nice, Erin thinks. And he shouldn't be grateful for it. She hates herself all over again but concentrates on the rope so that the mistiness in her eyes dissipates before she looks back at him.

"You've got five minutes," is all she says, contrasting his softness with her hard angles so she feels more comfortable, if only slightly.

"Tha -"

"- Don't," she cuts in, unable to hear the word. "Don't thank me. Stop _thanking_ me."

Jay says nothing more, adhering to her request and she thinks she might actually be grateful about it; grateful to not hear him regard her as something good in all of this. Something not monstrous: she doesn't deserve it. Instead, as she picks the gun back up he sucks in a long, low breath as he pushes himself up off of the radiator. She hasn't made it easy - hasn't cut the cable tie yet because having him up off of the floor _and_ his hands free would be stupidly risky, even for her - and she knows his ribs must be screaming at him. His leg too, in its awkwardly bent position.

Finally though, Jay manages to haul his body up into a standing position, the blanket pooling by his feet and the pillow she'd given him dropping back towards the floor too.

"I never asked," he starts, "about your kid."

This time, Erin sucks in a breath as she watches him lean against the wall for support.

"Boy or girl?"

She's not going to answer that: not going to give him even a breath of information that would put Jack in any more danger. And he seems to realise this when all she does is stare ahead.

"I never wanted a sister," he starts, raising his bound hands to touch the swollen side of his face, trying (and failing) to hide his wince at the pain. "Always thought girls were gross and stupid. I just wanted a younger brother so I could boss him around like my brother bossed me."

She stands stoically, torn between wanting to tell him to shut the fuck up and asking him why. In the end, she says neither.

"I didn't get a brother. Didn't get a sister either, or...not really. Now though, I think it would be kind of cool to have a little girl. Scary as shit," he laughs out a one syllable burst of air that she doesn't return with even so much as a smile. "But kind of awesome too."

Well, she doesn't have a daughter and Jay'll never have any idea how glad she is about that. How grateful she was in that hospital theatre to discover that the doctors had cut a baby boy out of her stomach - one who'll never fear growing up in the image of his mom. And selfishly, she knows too, that he'll never look at her in the way she looked at her own mom.

Jay takes a slightly unsteady step forward and Erin backs away a little, feeling the weight of the gun in her hand grow heavier. For the next couple minutes or so, he shuffles along the back wall, never leaving it and she realises it's because of his injured leg: he can't stand on it, not properly, and she relief she feels at this silent revelation makes her awash with guilt yet again. She's _relieved_ because the innocent man she's holding captive in her basement can't walk unaided. She really is a shitty person.

Eventually, Jay returns to the floor with some effort, sliding his body back against the radiator and Erin takes from this that he's done stretching his legs.

"Coffee?" she asks and he nods.

"Yeah."

She snips off the cable tie first and then retrieves both mugs from the step, handing him one which he takes without a voiced _thanks_ , though she doesn't miss the way his lips open in automatic response, then close again when he realises his mistake just in time. She shocks him - and herself - then, by sitting down beside him on the cold floor, her gun placed beside her far, far away from his hands. He looks at her new position but says nothing and they sip in silence for a good few minutes, the noiselessness only broken when Jay comments - or questions, she can't be sure - "black with sugar".

"I like it strong."

Silence again, but then, "You think," he starts, looking up at her with those intense blue irises of his. "If we'd met in another life, you'd have talked to me without being afraid to say what you're thinking?"

She isn't sure whether his words are meant to stab at her. To twist and sting in their directness. The coffee sits in her mouth, unswallowed, as she looks at him, struggling to breathe. Struggling too, to work out how he's figured this out about her in the brief period of time they've spent together. He's watching her. Staring even, like she's the only thing that exists, and she feels suffocated by it.

Somehow though, she manages to swallow the coffee and dredge up the words from somewhere. "Doesn't matter," she replies. "You wouldn't have talked to me anyway."

"Say I did," he says, shifting with a slight wince so he's angled that little more towards her. "In a bar."

She can't help but scoff. "We wouldn't have been in the same bar. Not unless you were lost."

"A coffee house."

Her eyes roll. "You think I've got the money to sit in Starbucks?"

"Okay, in the grocery store then," he challenges. "We're pushing our carts along and we meet by the candy. What would you say to me?"

He wants to play, she thinks, and she knows she's at the stop sign right now. She can make the smart choice and turn around, head back up those stairs and park this conversation or she can blaze past the sign; ignore all the warning lights and the red flags. Of course, she picks the latter.

"Depends."

"On?"

"On what you're reaching for."

"Why would that matter?"

"You want me to answer or not?"

"Fine," he says, with something dangerously close to a smile on his lips. "Candy corn."

"Is it Halloween?"

"No."

"Then I'm going to call you out on it."

"I tell you I like the taste."

"Nobody likes the taste," Erin contradicts. "In fact, it doesn't even _have_ a taste - it's just a horrible combination of sugar and corn syrup."

"We agree to disagree and then I ask what you're buying."

She thinks for a moment. It's been a long time since she's bought anything from the aisle they'd be standing in but they're playing and so she says the name of the candy she always begged Bunny for when she was younger. Never once did she get it. "Hershey's Kisses."

Jay's mouth does actually twitch into a smile at that and Erin feels her heart start to beat unceremoniously fast. He's close, she realises. _Too close_ and she's warm. She isn't sure whether they started out further apart or whether they've always been seated like this since she joined him on the floor, but either way she knows she needs to move. Knows too, that she's made yet another mistake.

Jay seems to sense her unease and clears his throat, setting his empty mug on the floor and turning his head so he's looking in front of him rather than at her. She stands up, grabbing the gun so she can point it accordingly.

"You like soup?" she asks.

"Yeah. Why?"

Erin shrugs like it's nothing. "Thought maybe I'd bring you some. For dinner," she adds.

He doesn't thank her but smiles and nods and they both know it's pretty much the same thing. This time however, she doesn't bite at him for it.

"Erin," he starts, using her name like it's a loaded word, and she figures in some ways it is. Knowing the name of one of your kidnappers isn't how it's supposed to be. "How much longer?"

He doesn't have to elaborate. _How much longer have I got? How much longer until you kill me_?

"Until your brother pays up," she answers, slipping the cable tie into place quickly.

"What if he doesn't?"

She swallows. "He will."

X

Lunch time passes. The snow outside is still falling - albeit a little lighter than before - and Charlie doesn't return. Erin makes herself a sandwich with some stale bread and chokes it down as Jack fusses on her lap, his missed bottle not going unnoticed.

"Daddy'll be home soon," she tells him - more for herself possibly, than for the little boy who has no understanding of her words. "And he'll bring you enough formula that you can have ten bottles." Her voice is bright, stealing the very last of her optimism.

Charlie doesn't return - not when the clock ticks past 2pm and then 3pm, nor when she leaves the half dozen voicemails on his phone, nor when Jack's screams threaten to deafen her and she's about a single deep breath away from screaming herself.

There are two options: she waits for him to come back, allowing her child to go hungry because she's hiding a hostage in her basement and can't leave the house, or she risks leaving said hostage alone for a half hour while she runs through the snow to the store to steal a can of formula.

Her legs bounces uncontrollably, her teeth gnawing at the stumps of her fingernails while she tries to make a decision and in the end, she can't watch her child cry any more. Setting him down in his crib - at which Jack only cries harder - Erin gathers just enough resolve to march towards the basement, gun at the ready in her outstretched hand as the light flickers on, then off, on again and off, until it finally decides to do its job.

"You said you'd ever hurt a kid," she states, aiming the gun at his head so violently that Jay visibly blanches. "You said that. You told me you wouldn't."

"I wouldn't," he answers quickly, eyes darting from hers to the gun and then back again.

"I need you to prove it." _Christ_ , her voice is about two octaves higher than normal and wavering. "I need you to prove you wouldn't hurt my kid even though you're here in this basement and -"

"- Erin," he cuts in, voice unmeasurably soft, like it's catching hers somehow. "I promise I won't hurt him. _Her_?"

"Him," she whispers.

"Is everything al-"

"- Everything is fine." It's her turn to cut in and she spits out the words, waving the gun but acknowledging too that if she can still hear Jack's screams, Jay can also. He can hear how much of a terrible mother she is. "Don't make a noise. Don't...I've been good. I've brought food and blankets and I...I…"

"I won't hurt your son, Erin," Jay almost whispers, and when she looks at him - really looks at him - she knows it's the truth.

She nods and says nothing more, just clicks off the light and locks the door behind her. There's a lump in her throat making it so tight that she can't swallow. Jack's cries are incessant and if anything, they stamp the rubber seal of confirmation regarding her decision: she can't take him with her to the store when he's screaming like that - there's no way she'll be able to shove the can of formula up underneath her coat without drawing attention. And so, taking one final look at the locked basement door, she pulls on her coat and heads out.

The streets are pretty much deserted save for the odd few people clearly having gotten off the bus at the stop nearest their intersection. The store, thankfully, has a few other customers and there seems to be a hold-up at the checkout so she manages to shove the formula under her coat without incident. On the back wall, the candy catches her eye and there, towards the bottom shelf, is a stock of candy corn. She shoves a packet into her pocket, and on her way towards the exit, spots a store clerk.

"Do you guys have any dutch-process cocoa?" she asks quickly, knowing the answer will be a no and she can leave with a legitimate excuse for not having made a purchase. "I'm making a cake."

"I'm sorry Miss," the man tells her sincerely and she feels like such a horrible person when she declines his suggestion that she might replace the stuff she needs with the Hershey's unsweetened kind and a dash of baking soda.

The journey home is a race but she makes it, somehow, in under ten minutes with her lungs burning and her legs and feet and hands numb from the biting cold. Jack's shrill cries are still audible and the basement door is still locked so she flies up the stairs to his nursery, her heart splintering when she lifts him from his crib and finds his sleepsuit soaked with tears.

"Come on little man," she hushes, heading down to the kitchen to fill the kettle while he continues to cry. As soon as he has the bottle in his mouth though, he quietens, drinking every last drop she's made before his eyelids flutter closed, giving way to the milk coma she finds utterly heartbreakingly beautiful. He'll be sick later, she knows, drinking in such a quick time and falling asleep before being burped, but Erin can't bring herself to wake him now. Not when he's so content. And so she catches her own breath, only just tuning in to the thumping in her chest and the bile rising in her throat, the sweat clinging to her back and the pins and needles in both her hands and feet.

There's still no sign of Charlie.

Around fifteen minutes later, Jack does in fact vomit his milk back up and Erin bathes him in the sink, dresses him in a clean sleepsuit and hums something indistinguishable - a hybrid of two different songs maybe, she can't be sure - until he drifts back off, his tiny hand clutching at her finger. She doesn't want to let him go. She never wants to let him go, she decides.

She does though. She settles him in his crib because Jay kept his promise and she'd pointed a gun at him ( _again_ ) and despite her thoughts earlier - those awful thoughts of charred flesh and a bleached basement - she really, really doesn't want him to die. And so she tucks the glock into her side, unlocks the door and takes a deep breath as the light clicks on.

He's watching her warily and she wonders if the best thing for them all would be to turn that gun on herself.

"Hey," he says softly. She's undeserving of that tone.

"Hey." She moves closer, eyeing the rope and the cable tie and finally, him.

"I thought that maybe...earlier... you were going to shoot me."

"I…" her words catch in her throat. "I don't want to do that."

Somehow, when they finally tumble free, the words don't seem like an admission. Somehow, in his eyes, it seems like he already knew that anyway.

Untying him from the rope, Erin leaves the plastic around his wrists and hands him the packet from her pocket.

"As a thank you, I guess," she tells him as his eyes question her presentation of the candy.

Jay nods but says nothing again, clearly staying clear of verbalising how fucked up all of this is as she takes a seat beside him. This time, their arms touch and she shares the blanket.

* * *

 **A/N 2 - That moment some of you are asking for? It's coming, trust me ;)**

 **Also, thank you for all of reviews for the last chapter.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N - Thank you for your lovely reviews last chapter. It was great to get some new readers too :) I'm frantically trying to write as much as I can for this story before I go away on a two-week vacation so that I might be able to give you guys a finished product (but I can't make any promises) There aren't too many more chapters to go so I really hope you enjoy this :) Don't forget to review!**

* * *

A Fairytale By Another Name

Erin's body jerks violently and she only realises as she's opening her eyes that she'd fallen asleep. Her heart leaps into her throat when she realises that the basement door is open and she can hear a series of dull thumps coming from the bottom of the stairs. In her haste to reach Jack, she forgets the gun but finds him sound asleep in his crib and so looks out of the window. The car is back - although looks like it's been abandoned haphazardly - signalling Charlie's return.

Something inside of her chest twists and she has zero intention of deciphering what it is.

Another sickening thud sounds out and she runs downstairs, grabbing her gun from beside the couch. Bile rises in her throat when she descends the basement stairs and sees Charlie attacking the man who, only the last time she was awake, had held her more gently with his hands bound than she'd ever been held before.

" _You want some?" Jay asks, managing to make a tear in the plastic packaging even with the cable tie still in place. Briefly, Erin wonders if she hasn't tightened it enough._

 _She makes no attempt to check - or pull the strip of plastic tighter._

" _I'll pass."_

" _Come on," he tries, nudging her a little and it feels unequivocally like a line has been crossed. She's almost certain there's no going back now._

 _She rolls her eyes. "Fine."_

 _She holds her hand out and Jay tips the packet so around eight pieces of candy land on her palm. He's watching her, she knows, like she's some strange species that hasn't been identified yet. Self-conscious, she pops one of the pieces onto her tongue and feels rather than sees him smile beside her. He shouldn't be smiling about this. He shouldn't be smiling about anything._

" _It's good right?" Jay says, shoving at least four pieces into his mouth at once._

" _It really just tastes like sugar," Erin decides, but adds another piece to her mouth regardless._

" _You say that like it's a bad thing."_

 _She shrugs and the action makes their arms brush. Her toes curl inside of her boots and she wants to do it again. She doesn't._

 _Instead, she finds some words from somewhere inside of her, strings them together and manages to form a question._

" _Do you eat the Halloween candy you buy before the trick-or-treaters come?"_

 _There's a grin crossing his lips and all Erin thinks is that she doesn't deserve this - this moment of pleasantness in such a horrendous situation. Still, Jay answers. "So much of it that I always have to buy it twice."_

" _You get dressed up?"_

 _He shrugs and their arms brush again. This time though, she thinks he shifts a little closer so that their bodies are resting against each others from their shoulders to their elbows. A warmth spreads from where he's touching her down to her fingers and Erin feels them twitch a little. "Sometimes. I went as my boss one year to a party one of the guys in my unit was throwing. It didn't go down well."_

 _Despite everything, she finds herself smiling. "I've never been to a Halloween party."_

 _It feels like a more significant admission than it should, but Jay doesn't dwell on it and she feels a sense of gratitude towards him._

" _Would would your costume be?" he asks "If you went to one next year."_

 _Unsurprisingly, that seems like the last thing she'll be doing come October 31st. For the sake of this precariously constructed fantasy world they're engaging in however, Erin thinks of her answer._

" _Miss Honey from Matilda."_

 _Jay's lips quirk. "Not the answer I would've predicted."_

" _She seemed like such a good person," Erin sighs, and doesn't realise she's said the next part until she feels Jay's bound hands rest over hers. "The complete opposite to me."_

" _You're not a bad person Erin."_

 _She swallows and blinks back the tears threatening her vision. She is. She's worse than bad. She's monstrous. Evil._

" _I am," she whispers. "And I'm sorry."_

 _She feels his body shift, accompanied by a grunt of discomfort but then, "Do you trust me not to hurt you?"_

 _She knows she shouldn't. Turning to look at him though, his blue eyes are so clear and so honest that the word slips out, unchallenged. "Yes."_

 _He lifts his arms and stretches his elbows apart to form an oval which slips over her so that she's in the centre. Then, Jay draws them back inwards so they close around her and she's resting against him. Being_ held _by him._

 _His breath feels warm and comforting against her ear and she sniffs as a tear forges a damp path down her cheek._

Charlie's alternating between hitting Jay, tugging at his own hair, and scratching at his skin as though he has an uncontrollable itch. She says his name - loudly and in broken syllables - and only when he looks up does she realise what this is: he's using.

It's been years since she's seen him like this - wild and impulsively lunging with such black eyes; high (or, coming down from one) off of heroin - and she knows there and then that she has to get out.

"Stop it!" she shouts, tugging at his leather jacket, recoiling from the smell of him: he hasn't showered in a couple days and she knows from the stains on the front of his sweater that he's vomited without significant effort of a clean up. "Hey!" Her voice is suddenly loud and clear and he does stop, looking at her and for a moment, her whole world stops spinning. She's unsure as to whether he's about to do the same to her as he did to Jay but his limbs go lax and she lets out a quiet breath.

"Go take a shower," she whispers. "Go to bed. I've got this."

It's a lie. She doesn't have anything remotely resembling the unvoiced 'under control'. What she _does_ have is a three-month-old baby with shitty parents, a boyfriend she's only just realising has been using probably the whole time she thought he was clean, and an innocent cop tied to a radiator in her basement.

Charlie heads up the stairs without a word and Erin can barely bring her eyes to look at Jay's. He's breathing, which is probably the only good in all of this, his laboured inhales clogged by blood and a swollen face.

"I'm not going to let him kill you," she says, decision made. Her voice is barely audible but she knows he's heard.

This time, Erin leaves the light on when she heads back up to the house. She closes the door but doesn't lock it, ascending the stairs towards Jack's room. Miraculously, he's asleep and so she carefully bundles him into a snowsuit, sets a hat over his head and then secures the fluffy hood with a scarf. She can't leave him up here with Charlie and it's too cold to let him sleep in the car without the engine running so the only option is to keep him with her. Jay's not going to hurt him.

She listens while Charlie forgoes the shower in favour of heading straight to bed, waits a few minutes in case he's unable to sleep, but hears nothing. Jack's little dark eyes stay closed as Erin fills a bowl with warm water in the bathroom. There isn't a spare flannel anywhere and so she figures a teatowel will have to do. Navigating her way back downstairs with the bowl of water in one hand and a sleeping baby in the other proves a difficult challenge, some of the water sloshing over the sides so her coat gets wet, but she makes it down the narrow basement stairs and finds Jay watching her through swollen black eyes.

"He's sleeping," she tells him in reference to Charlie. "I…" Looking at Jack, she sniffs, voice cracking. "I'm going to keep him with me. Please just don't -"

"I won't," Jay manages to grit out.

Erin nods. _Thank you_ seems too hard to say.

She uses the pillow behind Jay and the blankets dumped haphazardly away from his feet to form a bed of sorts, on which she sets Jack. His eyelashes flutter briefly, but he stays blissfully unaware and so Erin unties the rope from around Jay's wrists before soaking the towel in the warm water.

He flinches a little when she guides the material across his skin and so she raises her hand in a no doubt failed bid to alleviate the pain as much as possible. He watches her face the entire time, eyes taking in the thin curve of her lips; the mole she has on the side of her face that she hates; the dark circles she knows have been a permanent feature under her eyes, probably for the last few years.

Her knees on the floor, Erin bends closer to Jay, holding the side of his head as gently as she can in her left hand so she can wipe the blood away with the cloth in her right.

"I should've brought some ice," she says aloud - not really for his benefit but he still manages to find it within him to reply.

"There must be plenty of snow outside."

She nods. He continues, somehow. "Your hands feel better."

"I told you I won't let him kill you," Erin tells him for the second time. "So you don't have to be nice."

There's a movement in his eyes that she can't attach an emotion to. It' something akin to hurt but it's not quite that. He doesn't say anything else.

Jack continues to sleep while Erin soaks the towel again, squeezing it out before carefully wiping at the blood around Jay's nose and lips. They look soft, she decides, like they'd be comfortable to rest her own on.

The thought catches her off guard and she gasps, flaming from her neck upwards despite the cold of the basement.

"What?" His voice is gruff but not sharp. There's a dangerous lilt to it though that she can't place.

"Nothing."

"Erin…" He leans closer, so close that his breath is hot on her own lips as she can taste the sweetness of the candy corn. Can make out the metallic smell of his blood too.

"I -"

He closes the gap then. Leans forward just a little so there's barely a breath of air between them and dusts his lips over hers. She doesn't move. She _can't_ move. There's some pressure - his lips pressing further against hers - and her eyelids sweep downward and her heart feels like it's stuttering out of rhythm.

She pulls back and he's watching her like she's a feral animal. "Why did you do that?"

"I…" he winces and tries to shift his body. "I wanted to see if you felt it too."

Her lips feel like they've been stung. It seems horrendously inappropriate that she likes it.

"Leave him Erin."

"I…"

His hands - still bound by the cable tie - are lifting her chin. "Leave him. Give your kid a chance."

"What about you?" She whispers.

"We both know he's going to kill me," he grits out. "And you can't stop him."

"I can," she protests weakly.

"You can't," Jay repeats, closing his eyes. "And that's okay."

"I want to." She wishes she'd realised sooner. Or, maybe it would be better if she hadn't realised at all.

"I know."

Her hands are touching his wrists. "Why would you want to help me?"

"You remind me of someone."

"Who?"

He's silent for a moment and Erin wonders if all of the words have stolen the last of his breaths. But then, in almost less than a whisper, he says "Nadia."

There's an expression on his face that halts the follow-up question and Erin purses her lips closed. Her cheeks feel hot all of a sudden, and she realises she's crying. "I was the one who drove you here you know. I brought you here!"

Jay only seems to stare at her. He doesn't look surprised.

"I was the one who drove you here," she tells him again, like he might've misunderstood the first time. "I could've driven to the police station or refused or done anything to keep you from being stuck in this basement, but I didn't.

He's still silent and her tears are hot and angry.

"I thought about killing you. Even picked out a place to hide your body."

He doesn't flinch.

"I was going to shoot you," she's nodding, she realises, like maybe it's herself she's trying to convince. "Drag you out to the silos and burn your body to hide the evidence."

"What do you want me to say?" he finally asks.

"That you hate me. That you want me to suffer."

"I don't."

She tosses the towel onto the floor and water sprays upwards. She wipes at her tears and picks up Jack who's started to stir with the raised noise. The rope stays on the floor.

"You should."

X

She's crying harder by the time she reaches the living room, skin burning from the hot, wet salt and the feel of Jay's body against hers. Jack is screwing up his face too, getting ready to announce his own discomfort and all Erin can do is cry harder. At one point, not too long ago, this would have been the time where she gave in to the impulses in her fingers; that burning desire within her to head out onto the corner, sell herself for a bag of heroin and shoot up as soon as she got back to the house. But now there's Jack and she will not be Bunny in this equation. And so she clenches her fingers towards her palm, sucks in a shaky breath and heads up to his nursery for a diaper.

She changes him almost robotically, redressing him in the snowsuit from earlier because she just needs to get _out_ , wherever out might be. Jack settles quickly and looks at her with such innocence that she finds herself looking away, picking him up and holding him to her chest so he can't yet recognise what a bad hand he's been dealt in life.

On the way back downstairs, she pushes open the door of her and Charlie's bedroom open just a fraction so she can determine whether or not he's asleep, and yeah, Erin knows she's seen a lot in twenty-three years, but nothing could've prepared her for the scene in front of her.

She gasps in a breath which sounds more like a strangled sob as she pushes the door all the way open.

"Charlie!" she screams, her tone sending the baby in her arms into an eruption of screams. Something kicks in - instinct maybe - and she rushes Jack to his crib despite his escalating cries.

Maybe she expects the scene to have changed when she returns to the bedroom but it hasn't - it's still the same view of her boyfriend, needle in his arm and eyes open, slumped against the wall unmoving.

She knows he's gone.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N - Sorry for the huge wait in between chapters. I haven't abandoned this story - just went on quite the long vacation - and I'm back now so should be posting more frequently.**

 **As a side note, I hope you're all safe after the devastation in Texas.**

 **Enjoy this chapter x**

* * *

A Fairytale By Another Name

Erin has no idea how long she stays there in that bedroom. Something must filter through into her brain at some point because she hears a noise - her name - strangled from a set of lungs she recognises only not to be hers or Charlie's.

Jay, she realises. _Jay_.

Unsure of what else to do, she heads numbly down the stairs to find him half dragging himself from the basement to the hallway. Unconsciously, she reaches for her gun but it isn't there - left somewhere else she suddenly realises she can't recall. He holds his hands up, a realisation of what she must suspect. "I tried…" he croaks out. "You were screaming."

"It's Charlie," she manages somehow, shuddering and feeling a strange mix of heaviness and light-headed. She tells him what she saw. What she _knows_.

"Get your son," he says, acknowledging the baby's cries from upstairs. "I won't...I _can't_."

She understands. He's too injured to get anywhere.

She has to pass the bedroom on her way but she pulls the door closed without looking. The image is imprinted on her brain anyway.

When she reaches Jack, she decides it'll be the last time he cries because of something like this. She's not going to subject him to any more of this kind of life, and if that means having someone so much better than her take care of him, then so be it. She'll give him a chance, Erin decides, to not be held back by her or this neighbourhood or the first hand he was dealt.

"You're gonna have the best life," she whispers, stroking the dark curls on his head. "I promise."

Jay is still in the hallway when she returns downstairs, watching her intensely. She stands there, Jack seated at her hip and leaning against her chest, warm and smelling of that delicious baby smell she loves so much.

"So what're you going to do?"

"Wait for the cops to come and arrest me."

"You're not going to run?" Jay's voice is so rough, she wonders how he's even managing to speak.

"Where would I go? I have no one to run to. And..." she looks at Jack, resting her lips on his crown "he deserves better than what I've given him."

"Erin…"

"I promised myself and him in that delivery theatre that I wouldn't be my mom," she sniffs, forcing back the tears and the lump in her throat. "And I'm worse."

"You're not…" he tries, groaning as he tries to move and his ribs and leg protest at the exertion. "You got a piece of paper and a pen?"

She nods dumbly.

"Write this down."

He grunts out an address in Wisconsin and Erin just about manages to scrawl it across the back of a gas bill envelope with a shaky hand. "You'll be safe there."

"What is it?"

"My cabin," Jay answers, wincing as he clutches his ribs. "It's…" another wince. "By the lake. It's quiet and there's running water." A third wince. "And wood for the fire."

She stares at him - at the bruises littering his skin and his red eyes and his soft lips that had kissed hers earlier. "Why -"

"-Because you can't stay here. 'Cause your kid needs a mom."

"I hurt you," she whispers.

"You didn't."

"I helped _him_ hurt you."

Jay looks at her and she feels her heart stutter again, stop beating for a couple seconds while her breath catches and then it's hammering beats in such quick succession she's not entirely sure she's not having a heart attack.

"Erin," Jay's saying, and she feels light-headed and wobbly. Everything's spinning. " _Erin_ , take a breath. Sit down."

She thinks she manages to comply, blinking the black spots in her vision away until she can see properly again. The man in front of her looks way more concerned than he should.

"You okay?"

He shouldn't be asking her that either.

"You need to go to the hospital," is what she says.

"Yeah."

She nods and then feels his hand on her leg, just above the top of her boot.

"Get everything you need. You can drop me off on your way."

Erin looks at Jack and then at Jay, then back at Jack again. "Okay."

She throws enough of her son's clothes to last a few days into a duffle bag, tops it with blankets and his favourite stuffed animal and the few diapers she has left. For herself, she grabs her toothbrush then takes a final glance around the top floor of the house, her gaze lingering on the bedroom door which remains shut. She decides against getting herself a change of clothes for obvious reasons and heads back downstairs with Jack on her hip.

Jay's face is screwed up on her return, the evidence of his pain clearly written into his eyes and clenched fists.

"Ready?" he asks.

"I need his formula," she tells him, heading to the cabinet to grab the small tin of powder. It fits into the duffle bag she's holding. It's only when she looks back at Jay that she feels the tears sting her eyes again. She doesn't let them fall: it's not fair for her to be the one giving in when the guy slumped against her living room wall (the same one who's been reduced to sleeping against a radiator, bound and beaten and freezing) had clawed his way up the basement stairs just to make sure she was okay.

"What are you going to tell them?" she chokes out. "At the hospital."

"Nothing."

"They'll be suspicious."

Jay shrugs and then very obviously regrets it. "You have my word."

His eyes are honest when he tells her that and Erin nods briefly. Again, a _thank you_ is wholly inappropriate.

"You uh...you need to get rid of the rope and the ties from the basement."

"Okay." She looks at Jack and then at Jay, who seems to sense her thoughts.

"I won't hurt him Erin."

Nodding, she swallows. "Okay."

Setting him against Jay, who offers a gentle 'hey bud,' as he rests a hand on the baby's back, Erin takes a look at the two of them before heading down to the basement.

"The pillows and blankets too?"

He nods. "Yeah."

She does as he says, finding her son smiling at the man she'd held hostage in her basement when she returns, and feels a stab of something in her chest. It makes a sob rise in her throat but she stifles it before it can amount to anything audible.

The cable ties go in the trash, the rope looped and put in the cupboard with Charlie's tools and Erin then folds the blankets. "I got them from upstairs."

"Make it look like you left first. When the cops come, they'll assume that's the reason for his O.D."

Jack gurgles and Jay smiles and Erin hates herself for suddenly imagining a scenario where the dynamics of this are so vastly different. She forces herself to go upstairs before she can conjure up any more images.

X

The last time she drove the car was when she was driving Jay to the basement that fateful night. This time, he's in the front passenger seat and Jack is strapped into his carseat in the back, and it's almost normal - or at least, it _appears_ almost normal.

Getting him into the car had been a struggle, though not more difficult than it had been to get him out of it the first time. Erin can still feel the weight of him against her shoulder, can still feel his warm breath heaving against her neck, can still smell that faint cinnamon/mint mix which should've been overpowered by blood and sweat, except it hasn't.

"The key's under the stone," he tells her, breaking the silence they've been driving in. "The one to the right of the porch."

"Okay."

"You know how to light a fire? It'll be cold."

"Yes."

It's a lie. She's not entirely sure she can remember the way the cub scouts recruiter showed them back in school, but she'll give it a try.

"There'll be some soup in cans in the kitchen, for when you get hungry," Jay adds. "Can't promise it'll taste great though."

"It'll be fine," she says, then feels insanely rude because actually, it's _way_ more than fine. Certainly way more than she deserves. She doesn't tell him this.

"If you need anything else, you know, for him…"

"Jack," she tells him. "His name's Jack."

Jay smiles. "It's a good name."

Erin says nothing more, just checks her son in the rearview mirror.

"If you need anything else, there's a grocery store in town. Don't worry about money, just give them my name."

Her cheeks burn in shame. "I want you to hate me," she whispers.

Jay nods like he already knew this. He doesn't voice the fact that he doesn't hate her. Erin's grateful: it's taking everything she has not to scream.

He instructs her to pull over a half block from the hospital with the reason there are no security cameras, "just in case". Reluctantly, she slows to a stop and turns to look at him. Before she can ask him how he's going to manage, he simply says "I'll be fine." He follows those words with a press of his lips to her forehead and she decides she never wants to open her eyes. Staying like this forever would be fine, given the circumstances.

Eventually though, Jay pulls back and reaches for the door handle. Erin wants to tell him how grateful she is; how insanely _good_ he is; how she hopes this last week won't ruin him.

She says nothing and neither does he.

X

It's pitch black when she rolls to a stop in the yard of what Jay had called a 'cabin', which in reality is a wood-clad house seated beside a frozen lake. The ground is covered in snow - so much of it than Erin's forced to park the car slightly on the road because it's the only clearing big enough.

Jack's asleep when she plucks him from the carseat, his breaths quick and even. She leaves the bag in the trunk for the time being, tripping slightly through the snow to the door. The overhang of the porch is enough that the stone hiding the key (not that it's hiding it well) isn't completely covered, and she plucks it from its resting place with freezing hands.

The cabin smells like wood and something that reminds her of old blankets - the cosy kind that are somehow comforting despite garish patchwork. It is, she decides in her subconscious, quintessentially _Jay_ , that comfort element. He was right though, it's cold - maybe even colder than cold, and she needs to get the fire going despite the time.

There's a basket of logs and old newspapers beside the fireplace and she assumes there'll be matches somewhere if she looks hard enough. She finds them in a kitchen cabinet along with a torch and some batteries, and sets Jack against some of the couch cushions so she can make a start on lighting the fire.

It doesn't take too long before the flames are licking their way along the logs and she can feel the tentative heat start to filter out into the room.

She's exhausted but the bags are still in the car and she hasn't even figured out where she's going to set Jack so he can sleep properly. She doubts Jay would just have a spare crib lying around and decides that maybe, for tonight at least, he can stay where he is, comfortable against the cushions with the fire's warmth and the safety that comes from not living on Chicago's south side.

Erin doesn't sleep. Instead, she adds logs to the fire each time the last one turns close to ash and watches the night give way to day which brings no sun, only a snowstorm so heavy that by the time it lets up enough for her to retrieve the bags from the car, every one of her footprints from earlier is covered over.

Around lunch time, the phone rings. Erin's in the middle of feeding Jack and it makes her freeze. She doesn't answer it, just waits for the ringing to stop and then continues angling the bottle of formula so it flows freely into Jack's mouth. It rings again and her heart hammers in her chest.

Again, she lets it ring off, trying to concentrate on the way the white liquid bubbles up a little at the tip of the bottle but the harsh chirp of the phone sounds for the third time and so timidly, she picks it up, saying nothing at first.

"Erin?"

It's Jay's voice and she has to use the wall to prop herself up. "Jay?" She doesn't expect to sound so high-pitched or out-of-breath or relieved.

"Are you okay?" He's finally gotten out of that basement and he's calling to see if _she's_ okay. "I saw there was a huge snowstorm up there. Wasn't sure if you'd made it."

She can't say anything because the lump in her throat is suffocating.

"Erin?"

"Yeah," she sniffs. "We made it. Are you...how was the…." she can't finish.

"A few cracked ribs," he says, sensing what she was trying to ask. "And my leg's….going to be okay."

She exhales her sigh of relief that - physically at least - he's going to be fine.

"I didn't tell them anything," Jay adds. "If you were wondering."

"I wouldn't blame you if you did. You _should_."

He doesn't say anything in reply and the line between them is silent for a few seconds. "Erin?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't do anything...don't…."

She thinks she knows what he's trying to say. It makes her chest ache. "I won't."

She doesn't deserve the easy way out anyway.

Jay gives her his number ' _in case you need anything, or...whatever_ '. She tells him again that he's too good, but finds herself promising that she'll call if she _does_ need anything.

She wants to cry after he hangs up: she actually _misses_ him. She hopes he doesn't feel the same way.

X

A week passes. Erin visits the grocery store for diapers and formula and finds that the following day is Christmas Eve. She hadn't even realised. True to Jay's word, the lady behind the counter smiles when she mentions his name, following it with,

"Ah yes, he told me a friend of his was staying over."

She thinks _friend_ might be the least accurate word to describe what she is, but Erin forces a smile with a 'thanks', and then heads back along the road to the cabin. The air seems cleaner in Wisconsin than it did in Chicago, and she finds herself taking deep lungfuls as she carts Jack back in his snowsuit and mittens, his dark eyes bright with wonder at the blue of the sky and the white of the surroundings.

She eats half a can of tomato soup for lunch, ignoring the slight feeling of hunger even once she's done. Having Jay help her out with stuff for Jack is one thing but she's not about to let him help her out anymore than he already has. There are enough cans to last her the next week if she limits herself to one per day.

It's while she's bathing Jack later that evening that she hears a noise like a key in a lock. Her ears feel like they're burning and her heart feels like it's in her mouth, but then all of it ceases when she hears the next sound.

"Erin?"

She plucks Jack from the bath despite his protests, which come in the form of a whine rather than a cry, and soon temper off when she wraps him in a towel and hands him the washcloth he appears to have taken to over the past week.

She knows the voice belongs to Jay, and she thinks she's ready to see him; thinks she'll be fine, but when she rounds the corner and finds him standing beside the fire, leg strapped in a plastic boot and several bags surrounding his feet, she realises she's far from it.

 _That's_ when she cries.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N - You guys, THANK YOU SO MUCH for the response last chapter. I was overwhelmed (in the best way) by your sweet reviews and I've been eager to keep working on this chapter so I could have it posted for you within the week. Much love and appreciation.**

 **Hope you enjoy x**

* * *

A Fairytale By Another Name

Jay moves to hold her, drawing her against his chest despite the discomfort she knows he must be in. His lips rest against her forehead, much like they had the last time she saw him, and Erin breathes him in greedily, like if she doesn't get enough he might disappear.

Jack chooses that moment to reaffirm his presence, making a high-pitched shriek that's neither a cry or a sign of distress, and Erin feels the vibration of Jay's chuckle rumble through her.

"Hey bud," he says, running a hand softly through the mass of dark, wet curls on the baby's head. She knows Charlie loved Jack, but she's not sure she's ever seen anyone be so gentle with him. She pulls back from Jay reluctantly, trying her best to wipe her eyes on the shoulder of her sweater (and failing, as usual).

They stand for a moment without speaking, Erin taking in his clean jeans and the plaid shirt poking out from his open jacket. His eyes are still that same intense blue they were when she'd last seen him, and even though they're a little rimmed with red, the bruises on his face have faded significantly. There's more scruff on his jaw than when she last saw him too, but he looks good, she decides. Handsome. And then she tells herself she can't think that; doesn't get to look at this poor man objectively and make the silent decision that she finds him attractive.

Erin wonders what he sees when he looks at her.

"Have you slept?" _And there's her answer_ , she figures. He sees someone who looks like shit.

There doesn't really seem any point in lying. "Not really. Have you?"

"Not really."

Jack shrieks again and Erin sighs. "I should get him dressed."

"Yeah." He waves his hand, indicating she should get back to it. "I'll get sorted."

She glances back at the bags again and finally makes the connection. "You're staying?"

Jay visibly swallows and she wonders whether he might be nervous. She wonders whether she should tell him she didn't bring the gun. "For a few days. Thought I'd get away from...well, everything I guess."

"Do you want us to leave?"

"No," he's quick to answer, and the response makes the side of her mouth quirk up just a little. "Of course not."

"Okay."

He nods and she turns to head back to the bathroom. "I uh, I brought some scotch," he tells her. "If you fancy some?"

He looks so earnest in telling her. "That'd be good," she replies. "I'll just get Jack ready for bed."

When she returns to the living room, Jay's stoked the fire, the flames devouring a huge log that hadn't been in the basket before he'd arrived. He's removed his jacket too, having hung it up on the peg beside the door where her own hangs beside Jack's snowsuit. There's such a gentleness about him, Erin finds, despite his strength and the way he looks. A softness she knows she herself doesn't possess.

Jack's seated at her hip, sleepy-eyed from his bath but clearly fighting tiredness. Unsure of what to do, she takes a seat on the couch in front of the fire, settling the baby against her chest. Jay brings her the glass of scotch, holding it out for her to take before making to take up a spot on the floor in front of the couch despite the leg brace.

"Here," Erin says, shifting over so he can join her. "You're...you must be sore."

The cushions dip as his weight sinks into them and she's overwhelmed by him all over again. She wishes she'd showered today; wishes she'd done something (or _anything_ ) with her hair rather than the simple ponytail it's starting to fall out of. With her fingers burning to touch Jay's, she takes a sip of the amber liquid so her throat will burn instead. It's an easier feeling to focus on.

Jack continues to blink up at her and she rocks slowly, careful not to jolt Jay with his cracked ribs and fractured leg; careful too, not to allow herself to get too close. They're not in that basement anymore and as much as she never really had an idea of where they stood back then, she has even less of one now.

"It's amazing," Jay says softly, gesturing at Jack. "How he looks at you. Like you're the centre of his world."

Erin looks up, fighting the lump in her throat and the burn that's returned to her fingers. "I guess I'm the only one he really sees."

He opens his mouth to say something else but seems to think better of it and closes his lips again around the glass in his hand. His sips are significantly bigger than hers and she wonders whether it's because he enjoys the taste or whether he's just trying to numb himself.

"The police found him," Jay says after a few minutes. Erin stops rocking Jack and almost throws up what little she's eaten today. "I kept an eye out on the reports coming in."

It takes her a while to be able to ask her question. "What did they say?"

"O.D. Assumed his girlfriend had left with the baby and he'd taken a bad hit."

She nods. Just like he'd said. "That's it?"

"That's it."

"W-what about...what happened to his…" She can't bring herself to finish with the word 'body'.

"Maybe we shouldn't talk about this now," Jay says gently.

Erin all but downs the contents of her glass, wincing hard as the liquid hits the back of her throat and burns all the way down to her stomach. "I can handle it."

His eyes seem to soften even further and she just wants him to stop being so good to her. "Erin…"

"Please Jay," she whispers, lip already trembling. "I want to know."

He sighs and she knows he's caving.

" _Please_."

"When someone dies and there's no available next of kin, their body is stored in the morgue until someone comes forward to...uh... _claim it_ , so-to-speak. If that doesn't happen, they might seek out someone from the family if they can."

"And if they can't?"

"They body's buried."

She chokes out the next question. "With a funeral?"

His eyes tell her the word his lips don't speak, and she nods knowingly. "Will they try to find me?"

"Probably."

She turns her head away so Jay can't see the tears in her eyes. It's futile anyway: she knows he already knows they're there. "I hate what he did to you," she whispers, sniffing. "I hated so many things. But I still loved him somewhere amongst that."

"I know."

"And he's still Jack's dad."

"I know."

"I hate myself more," Erin tells him. "More than I hate what _he_ did. And don't try and tell me I shouldn't."

Jay closes his lips but leans towards her a little, his hand reaching out to rest on her knee. He feels warm - too warm maybe, like he's searing her skin beneath the fabric of her jeans - but she doesn't want him to move.

"I hate _him_ ," he tells her honestly. "But I don't hate you."

"You should." She can't bring herself to look at him. "I want you to."

He moves closer and Erin can feel the heat of his breath on her skin. It smells like alcohol too, but in a good way - an almost sweet, malty scent that makes her mouth water - and she wonders if her own breath is coming out as hot as it feels.

"I don't want to hate you Erin." He says it in a deep whisper that makes her shudder and flame and erupt with goosebumps all at once. She can't really see him through the tears in her eyes, but she can make out the blue of his irises and the soft pillows of his lips and the bobbing of his Adam's apple. "Just…"

He grazes those pillows against her own lips, resting for a moment and then sealing his mouth over hers and suddenly she's falling off the edge of that cliff she was balancing on, nothing to hold on to, nothing to bring her back up to the surface and she feels like she's drowning in him. His touch is feather-light - so incredibly gentle - and his hand is holding her face in that crease where her ear and her neck meet. Erin thinks, somewhere in the midst of it all, that she's always wanted to be kissed like this.

Too soon, Jay pulls away and she feels cold, like she needs his skin back on hers to get warm again despite the roaring fire. She opens her eyes and his lips are moist with her tears, her own cheeks and lips wet too. If nobody ever kisses her like that again, she thinks, at least she got the chance to see what it was like.

"I've wanted to do that since I got here," he says roughly, eyes darting around her face so he can read whatever expression it is she's wearing. Erin can't be sure what it is. She thinks she probably couldn't be sure what day it is either.

Words it seems, are tricky to come by. Her mouth opens and closes but no sound comes out other than a series of shallow gasps. She looks down to find Jack finally asleep and rises from the couch so quickly that everything in the room spins and dips away from her momentarily.

"I…" He's looking at her like she's a wild animal. She feels like one. "I need to put Jack to bed."

She stays in that bedroom for the rest of the night, wide awake but exhausted. Maybe she hears footsteps grow closer at some point before they still and then disappear in the opposite direction again. Maybe she doesn't.

She doesn't open the door to check.

X

Erin doesn't expect to find Jay in the kitchen at 6am. He looks like he hasn't gotten much sleep either, body slouched against the counter as he waits for the kettle to fill with water.

"Want some tea?" he asks gruffly, only turning towards her once the kettle's full. "Little man still asleep?"

"Yeah," she replies. "And tea would be good, thank you." If nothing else, it'll give her something to do with her hands until Jack wakes. She's surprised at how rough her own voice is, but figures that's what'll come from so many hours without sleep and a mouth dry with stale scotch. "I'll uh…" she indicates the bathroom down the hall. "Just wash up."

"You want a shower?" Jay asks. "This kettle takes ages to boil. But you probably knew that."

"Yeah," she forces something she hopes sounds like a burst of a laugh, or at least something that appears smile-like onto her lips. "But Jack will probably wake up soon."

He shrugs. "I can watch him for a few minutes."

He says it like it's no big deal, like this _whole set-up_ is no big deal and Erin wonders whether Jay expects her to trust him with her son when she's done the unthinkable. He must see the hesitance in her eyes because he steps a little closer, voice dipping in carefully measured cadences.

"I'm not going to hurt either of you," he tells her. "I promise. I'm not that guy."

"I don't know how you can promise that," she says softly. "When I did what I did."

"'Cause I don't _want_ to hurt either of you. 'Cause it's the truth."

"I never wanted to hurt you," she whispers. "But I did."

It's silent for a moment, save for the lapping of the flames on the stove. Erin wonders where they'd be right now if she'd driven straight to the police station or - in contrast - the silos that night. More often than not, she wishes she'd done one or the other. The present reality is too fucked up; too much of something and yet nowhere near enough at the same time.

"I missed you, you know," Jay says after a while. "That's why I'm here. I actually _missed_ you."

She gets it. She missed him too.

"I didn't want to. And I didn't want to feel….like... _this_ about you."

He looks consumed and it makes her feel guilty all over again. Her words are choked. "Then don't. Switch it off."

His eyes cloud with confusion. "Is that what you want?"

 _No_. "Yes."

He steps closer and lowers his voice to nothing more than a hoarse whisper. "Really?"

Erin's breath catches in her throat and her feet feel unsteady. His arms are close, slowly raising upwards so his hands catch around her wrists, just holding them at first before his thumbs begin rubbing soft circles on the underside. She feels slack and heavy and her pulse is thrumming against her temple. "No."

Right when she thinks he's going to kiss her, he drops his forehead to hers, just resting it there with closed eyes and weighty breaths that hit the bridge of her nose before fanning out across her cheeks like a spreading wildfire. She's starting to wonder whether he'll make her go up in flames before Christmas Day arrives. Maybe it'd be the best way to go, she considers. And then a whimper filters through the heat and the fog and Erin exhales her own breath against him.

"Jack's awake."

Jay pulls back and she looks at her wrists like she expects there to be a burn mark. There isn't.

She leaves the room and plucks her son from the centre of the bed he's been sleeping on, passing the bathroom on her way back and maybe it's the sight of the showerhead or the aching in her bones or maybe it's Jay's scent clinging to her, but she hands him Jack wordlessly, tries to turn her lips into what she hopes is a grateful smile, and then heads back out again.

It's quiet when Erin returns, fresh from her shower, from the bathroom wearing the only other outfit she brought out here with her. A flare of panic seizes her chest and spreads throughout her when she spots the slightly-open sliding doors, but then she sees her baby boy in his snowsuit seated in Jay's arms.

It's early - dawn's only just starting to break beyond the trees - and it's cold too, but there's a magical calm that only fresh, undisturbed snowfall can bring. She slides the door open enough that she can join them in the yard, her feet sinking into the soft white flakes, and everything seems such a million miles away from Chicago that it could've all just been a terrible nightmare. But then Jay turns to her, face still coloured with the faded bruises and her heart sinks again.

"He seemed to like the snow," Jay says by way of explanation. "Thought we'd just come out for a couple minutes."

Erin strokes her fingers down Jack's cheek with a small smile. "He does."

"What about you? Do you like the snow?"

"I'm always cold," she replies.

"Right."

"But it's beautiful," she decides aloud. "When it's like this. Unspoilt."

"I like the peace," Jay says, turning his gaze from her to Jack. "What do you say little man? We should get you inside before your mom freezes."

He's overwhelming. She follows him inside without a word.

X

Later, after tea slurped in an uncomfortable silence punctuated only by Jack's gurgles, Jay suggests they head into town to get some groceries. Or, more accurately, he suggests Erin head there while he rests his leg, but she apologises for having no money "hence the soup rations," she tries to joke (except, of course, it falls flat when he blinks at her, confused).

"Jesus Erin," he mutters. "You must've barely eaten."

"I've been fine."

"Well it's Christmas," he seems to decide aloud after a moment. "It'd be criminal not to buy enough groceries to feed a small army. I'll just have to come; make sure you do it right."

He's coming because she's unwilling to spend anymore of his money; rely on him for anymore help and they both know it. For some reason, she finds herself seated in the driver's seat and navigating the icy road into the centre of town anyway.

He pushes the cart around each aisle of the little grocery store and Erin has no clue what it is they're supposed to put in it. Jay however, appears to know his way around the shelves and adds all the accompaniments for what she thinks could pass for a royal feast. Jack's asleep in her arms, his head resting against her chest by the time they reach the cashier who beams at Jay, then wrinkles her nose at the leg brace.

He makes up a story about getting injured on the job and Erin spends the entire time overwhelmed by guilt and biting back tears. He then reminds the cashier about the items they'd let her take the previous day, and close to forty dollars is added to the total. Without blinking, Jay hands his credit card over, signs the receipt and they head back to the parking lot.

Erin spends the journey home wondering just how the hell she's ever going to find the words to thank him.

In short, she doesn't.

And so, after she lays Jack to sleep in the centre of the big bed she's barely slept in herself, she gathers what little energy she has left and heads out to where Jay's drinking a mug of the newly-purchased coffee. She avoids looking in the mirror as she passes, knowing that what she sees isn't going to be good; knowing too, that it might just sow the final seed of doubt to prevent her from going through with the only _thank you_ she can give right now. And Jay deserves _something_ , even if it is as fucked up as this.

He watches her enter the room as he always does. She's not sure if it's because he was used to doing it in the basement in Chicago or if it's because he's genuinely curious about her, but she keeps her eyes cast down at the floor until she reaches where he's sitting on the couch, takes the mug between her hands and sets it down on the hearth. He looks at her questioningly but doesn't speak - not at first, anyway - as she reaches her fingers out to his chest.

She manages a couple buttons of his shirt despite the shaking, but then Jay finally seems to remember his words and asks, "What're you doing?"

Erin doesn't speak, just undoes another button and then another and then the final one before she stands back and removes her sweater and t-shirt together. The bra she's wearing is old - one she already had before Jack - and it no longer fits properly. He's probably used to girls who wear matching lace sets from Victoria's Secret, she figures, rather than unflattering navy cotton from J.C Penney, but it's all she's got so dwelling on it seems pointless.

She daren't look directly at Jay and so instead, she eyes the belt buckle at the waist of his jeans, leaning towards him so she can unfasten it. She's pulling the leather through the metal when he stills her hands with his own.

"Erin, stop."

She doesn't. What she does instead, is pull her hands out from under his, brushing his groin as she does so, before unzipping her own jeans. It's not really necessary - she can get them over her hips and down her legs without needing to loosen them first - but the aesthetics aren't quite the same without the sound of the zipper. They're in a pool around her ankles when Jay sits up, taking her hands far too gently in his so he can tug on them.

"Erin." He whispers it this time, something about the timbre of it making her shiver, and when she looks up, she immediately wishes she hadn't. "Please stop."

It has no right to, but the rejection stings.

Her face flames and burns and she's still standing there, stock still, with her jeans on the floor and her sweater tossed to the side too, all of her pale, ugly skin on display for him to recoil over - and she almost vomits at the thought of it.

"Hey," he's whispering, tugging at her hands again but she's not going to look at him. She _won't_ look at him. " _Hey_."

Jay dips his head to catch her gaze so she screws her eyes shut, still bound to the floor somehow. And then she feels the gentlest of flutters on the underside of her left wrist, and then her right, like the brush of a feather against her skin. His lips, she already knows.

"Please open your eyes."

She does, but only a fraction. She doesn't allow them to meet his. "What do you want from me?" she whispers, face still red with shame.

"I don't know." She thinks this might be the most honest he's been. "But I want to try something if you'll... will you lie down with me?"

There's a blanket draped over the back of the couch and Jay must see her eyes flit to it because he releases her wrists tentatively, like she might run (she doesn't think she could even if she wanted to) so he can pull it around her. He's so tender in the way he closes the material, using the gathered ends to help guide her towards him. And she goes - like a sheep following its shepherd (or a lamb to the slaughter) folding herself against him.

There's no noise but the spitting of the fire and Jay's even breaths against her hair. Erin has no idea how long they lie there, nor at what point his fingers interweave with hers so their joined hands are cradled between them. Eventually though, he clears his throat and it his voice seems raw.

"I want to tell you about someone."

Erin lifts her head and catches sight of the cloudiness in his eyes.

"Nadia," he starts. "I met her when she was working as an informant for one of my cases."

He tells her the story of a serial killer and an island and his birthday - the event that got an innocent eighteen-year-old girl killed. Erin listens and wishes she could do anything to make it hurt less, but yet here she is being comforted by _him_. His voice breaks at one point and she finds herself squeezing his hand, just a little. She thinks she feels him squeeze back.

There have been some pretty crappy Christmas Eves over her past twenty three years. This is, she concludes, easily both the best and the worst of them all.


End file.
